The Afterwards
by amarreth
Summary: Draco came to his senses just in time and joined the Order. What he didn't expect was to fall for their hero. is better than it sounds...i hope!
1. Chapter 1

_**author's note:**_** if you are looking for just gay sex, you'll have to wait just a bit. also, this chapter speeds through a year with an intentional amount of detail: some events are very comprehensive, and others are merely mentioned. the important incidents will more than likely be enumerated as the plot develops. enjoy! oh, and i hate the title so far, so that may change. just letting you know.**

**--MEG**

The Afterwards

_Chapter One: And Here We Are…_

Draco knelt gently to the ground. His dark blue jeans touched the damp earth at his knees but he did not notice. It was a warm day, but there was a cool wind blowing the leaves around. The small church of San Lucia stood with picturesque grace a hundred feet before him; he did not appreciate his father's subtle joke. He gently placed the dozen white roses in his left hand at the base of the stone. They were his mother's favorite; their scent reminded him so much of her. He valiantly held back tears as he reached out to caress the stone before him. He traced her first name, etched with supposed permanence on the grave stone, before he spoke. "I am sorry I have not come to visit sooner, mum." He said very quietly. His throat closed and his eyes burned. He settled to speaking to her through his thoughts, as words had now failed him.

He related what the past few months had brought him. That Voldemort had been vanquished—permanently and forever. That her death was avenged—his father Lucius was dead—that he, Draco, had committed the patricide that brought down the cold man. That the order was now protecting him. That he was aiding the Ministry of Magic as it recovered from the war until something—preferably away from the Ministry—more permanent came along.

He had not finished when a gentle finger tapped his shoulder. "Draco, we should go: the sun is setting." Harry potter warned his ally. He had been standing under an old oak tree, at a respectful distance out of ear shot. It was the anniversary of his mother's death, and, despite the danger, Harry could not deny Draco this. But they could not stay long, especially after dark. They were still being hunted by the last few Death Eaters that remained at large; Draco, oddly enough, more than Harry. "C'mon."

Draco looked up. His first reaction was to pull away and refuse like a petulant child. This was _his _time with _his _mother. But a cooler head prevailed, and he sighed and rose. He knew that he should not have come, and especially not dragged Harry with him. He knew the dangers, the risks for all of them—but, knowing this, he still could not bring himself to regret the outing. Harry clapped a reassuring hand on Draco's back as they walked to the gate of the churchyard of San Lucia. Once off of the hallowed ground, Harry flicked his wand, and the two young men disappeared.

--

The past years had been one of constant change. People crossed battle lines as the war pressed on with unforeseen numbers. The most surprising of which was Draco Malfoy. The story he would relate as time went on was this:

Narcissa Black Malfoy was not the woman she seemed to be. It had begun during her time at Hogwarts, where she loved another man; she never told her son his name. But societal constraints forced her to marry Lucius—her love was a _rumored_ blood traitor, the worst possible kind, and such a match was disallowed. She rebelled; to eliminate the threat this suitor posed, Lucius did away with him, posing it as a suicide. Narcissa, weakened by the idea that her love had killed himself, Lucius easily took over her mind. He pushed his will upon her through a regime of potions and the Imperius curse if he felt it necessary. For most of his life, Draco believed his mother's true nature to be the stone-cold woman who stood distantly away. No one spoke of the scandal of the other man, and no one spoke of the change in darling Cissa—least of all her sister, who was livid when she learned Narcissa wished to marry the other man, and, Narcissa believed, aided Lucius in keeping her close.

But, over time Lucius grew lax, believing Narcissa had become properly subdued over time. He let the potions run their course. As her head began to clear, she realized fully what her husband had done; if she had loved him, her heart would have broken. Instead, she relied on anger, subtly rebelling against her husband and the Purist cause. She used Draco. She became a proper mother to him; if her husband noticed, he did not say anything. She recognized Draco's connection to the "family ideals" and could not fault him for them. There was a time when she too believed in the Cause with her whole heart. She began slowly; gaining her son's trust with at first only light affection, and then a greater amount of endearment as he began to respond to her. She was careful at first with how she spoke about her personal beliefs towards purity of blood and what the Cause was working towards; once Draco seemed to follow everything she said, she became more blunt with her opinions. By the end of his sixth year, he had been converted.

By then, of course, Draco had been conscripted to kill Dumbledore. Once her objections went unheeded and the deed was done—thankfully not by her son—she was through with pretending. When she voiced her protestations to Lucius, and began to leave, he killed her on the lawn, right in front of Draco.

Draco moved to attack, but Lucius had disappeared. Draco was left in a quandary: stay with the only regime he had ever recognized for most of his life, keep the money and power and hate; or go to the losing side, who would never believe him and included Potter—but that allied with his beloved mother's ideals, and would hopefully insure that he would have the opportunity to kill his father.

School had been out for a month and a half by this point; there would be no way to "run into" the Order brats. He used the latest intelligence he had overheard to find the Order's whereabouts. He sat outside the rural post box for three days, with his bag of treasured belongings minimized in his pocket. He did not move.

He was not sure how he got into the dark room—he did not remember falling asleep or being unconscious—but he opened his eyes from a mere blink to find a dark space with a single light. There was an odd taste in his mouth: a truth potion of some kind; his mind was slightly fuzzy from its affects. Good, maybe they would listen. Questions came from all sides of the room from manipulated voices so he could not recognize them.

He would not remember the questions asked or what he had answered. Certainly they would have asked him about tactical plans; but he did not care. He may be a traitor to his family's cause, but his father's crime was far worse. He was then left for a time to wait. He slept some, but not easily; it was an after-affect of truth potions, light insomnia. He was confined in a box made of clear, magical barriers and was just tall enough accommodate his six-foot frame and long enough to lie out like a star. Later, he would be told that they kept him there a week. The periods of questioning came and went, but for him they were merely darkened hours of memory loss. When he asked what finally made them let him out, Molly Weasley explained that, once his information was proving accurate and he was forth coming even without the truth potions—something he had not realized until then—that he should be allowed out.

The first few weeks were the worst. He was not trusted by anyone at the home—though Mrs. Weasley, whom he treated with growing respect, was kind to him. Potter, Granger, and the youngest Weasley children did not say a word to him—not even a mean one—and kept a cool distance. Not to say that it was all one-sided, for Draco kept his distance as well; but to say nothing completely was almost unforgivably rude. He was kept out of all confidences and meetings, which in all honesty did not surprise him. When school returned, he was not allowed to attend. Part of it was his own decision—going back to Slytherin House would be a death sentence. He was taught at home, mostly by himself with some help from Mrs. Weasley, with special allowance from Headmistress McGonagall. The three friends—who seemed so central to the organized that he found it unnerving—kept mainly to themselves, and gave out little information about the goings on at Hogwarts, even less of that came to his knowledge.

His daily life was disastrously boring, filled only with school work, extracurricular reading, and, if worse came to worse, cleaning and cooking the house. The house was too large for one to clean by one person even with magic. The home was clean enough to be lived in, but, as with most homes, there was still always something to do. It was rather humbling, being so bored as to think cleaning an interesting task. At Malfoy Manor, house elves were the drudge workers—and to equate oneself with them would be a disgrace. But he was not at Malfoy Manor; he was a long way from there. He found the cleaning rather useful. Although he was born to the upmost luxury, he was taught very early on to always be doing something—of course, "something" to his father was usually devious. The cleaning allowed him to be in motion, while freeing him mind to do as it pleased. He would usually think on what he had recently read or a random philosophical question that came to mind. It was a way to amuse him, to pass the time.

As Mrs. Weasley was the only one who seemed to be an ally, he made sure to keep her happy. He was certain that, without her there, he would have been out on the street or murdered by another of the Order. He could not afford to alienate her. So, when Mrs. Weasley suggested he learn to cook, he agreed readily enough. His first attempts came out burned, mush, or underdone. Thrilled to have a student to within her expertise (Ginny never cared to learn such things), Molly Weasley taught him all she knew.

With no company besides the loquacious middle-aged woman, his cat Artemis—who had been spotted hanging outside days after Draco's arrival and was similarly indoctrinated—and a plethora of books, he threw himself fully into school work. Regretfully, he finished his Seventh year before the holidays.

_Damn. Now what?_

--

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny returned home for Christmas they were appalled by what they saw: Draco cooking. Draco had not noticed the change in himself, but for the others, it was obvious. He was not scowling or disgusted, he said nothing passive aggressive or downright mean. Still not talking to him, they consulted Ron's mother about the change in the former Slytherin.

"What else has he to do?" Molly Weasley asked shrewdly. "He cannot leave this house for fear of his life. His friends would torture and kill him as soon as look at him. He has no family to write to, no connections to see, and no one to talk to besides myself and his cat." Her tone became more annoyed and sharp as she spoke. "And you lot—" She said, pointing at them. They all three took a step backward at her vehemence. "—are the only ones he can see his own age and yet you will not say even a 'hello'! The shame! Has he not proven himself yet to you three? A week of nothing but truth potions and memory charms and then total isolation from the outside world—and still you cannot give him the time of day. Ron, I know I taught you better, and you two should know better!" She _humph_ed and left them standing there, much abashed and Ron actually shaking.

After having been so thoroughly chastised, they became kinder to him, though Ron still limited his conversations with Draco. By the end of the break, they were on a first name basis with each other. It was a breath of air for Draco. Being with Mrs. Weasley alone was one thing, but having the others there and still feeling as though they were not was wrenching. It seemed to be worse than actually being alone. He did not count the last remaining Order Safe House as his home—he was merely a partially welcomed guest, kept here both for his safety and that of the Order. That small bit of alienation was lessened when he was treated as though he was meant to be there. Mrs. Weasley, too, was heartened. She was trying to rehabilitate the boy, show him another way of being. She was the only one who noticed Draco not wincing with Hermione spoke an opinion shortly after they holiday return.

Christmas went by with great fanfare—even if it was reflected more in emotions than in material gifts. The children each received one gift—a sweater, of course—and their favorite weird candy from the twins. Security was tight in the home, and the only outsider allowed to visit was Mr. Arthur Weasley. He kept his usual residence at the Burrow, watching over the local wizards there. He was no genius with a wand, but he could most definitely hold his own. The separation was a drain for the couple, that was evident for all to see, and Draco felt for Mrs. Weasley, who worried more than any of the others. The safe house was well hidden in the Highlands of Scotland, and very well protected so that it could Harry Potter without much worry. The other Weasley children were gathering amongst themselves since they could not be allowed to come. To keep spirits up, Mrs. Weasley planned a grand meal, which was executed with the aid of Draco Malfoy. The teasing he received was very light-hearted, and that which originated between friends.

Break ended too early, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were soon off to Hogwarts again. Draco was greatly disappointed to see them go. They had not grown very close, but enough that he was left for want of company. So, when Mrs. Weasley noticed that Harry had "forgotten" his homemade sweater, he offered to send it on. He sent the package via the only owl they were allowed, which a small note containing polite generalities like hopes that he was doing well and school was not too stressful. He was surprised when he was surprised to get a similar reply. Out of ingrained courtesy—and some curiosity as to _why_ Harry was replying—he wrote back. He was pleased that the letters continued over the last semester. They were nothing truly involved, the letters. They told of the goings-on, socially and academically, of the students of Hogwarts, with the adage of Harry's opinion of them. This connection to the outside world, however secret and illicit (it was a great risk, the constant owling), was more than greatly appreciated.

--

When it came down to the end, no one expected that Harry's right hand would be Draco Malfoy. Harry and Draco never spoke of what happened in the orphanage Tom Riddle lived in for his young years. Harry killed Voldemort, and Draco had been an invaluable help; that is all they would say to anyone.

But something was different now, Ron and Hermione noticed with jealousy and frustration. They were still his best friends—that had not changed. But there was a subtlety to Draco and Harry's friendship that they could not understand. So when Draco mentioned the anniversary of his mother's death, they were not very surprised when Harry suggested Draco should visit the grave. They were surprised when Draco agreed, and insisted Harry come. The adults were hesitant, but arrangements were made.

While they were gone, Ron and Hermione spoke their nerves aloud with Ginny. Ever since graduation, Harry and Draco's closeness was very apparent. It unnerved them that neither would say what had happened in the orphanage, or even what had led them there. Ginny, Ron's little sister and Harry's ex-girlfriend, shared their annoyance, citing that they, that is, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, had been beside Harry all along, and Draco was already a traitor to one side. Ron proposed they follow, but Hermione reminded him, with obvious bitterness, that they had neglected to inform _them_ where Narcissa Malfoy was buried. She added how odd it was that Draco would know where his mother was buried if he had not spoken with that side in months. The Purist burial sites had all been destroyed turning the war (supposedly to prevent Inferi, but it was also done to insult that side). Ron and Ginny agreed.

"But Harry is our friend," Ginny cut in, as though to remind herself more than them. "If we can trust anyone, we can trust Harry Potter."

"But if Draco has done something—" Ron began.

"Ron, we know he hasn't. Your mother's protective charms would detect anything on him and Draco." Hermione reminded him begrudgingly. She knew it was truth, but she wasn't happy about it. Such a beguilement would have given them an easy reason for the two's relationship. It would make more sense if they had known Harry and Draco had kept in touch over the final year. Unfortunately, neither would even consider that as a possibility. "It's the Orphanage." She said in an exhale. "It has to be—that shared event. Like us with the troll first year." She locked eyes with Ron.

Ron's fists clenched; he clearly did not appreciate similarities being drawn between their, that is, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's friendship and Harry and Draco's. "I still don't like it." He said gruffly. Hermione and Ginny shared a look. They agreed. "How…why was Draco even there? How did he know?" _When we didn't?_ He added in his head.

Hermione rose nervously, unable to be still anymore. "That, Ronald, is the big question."

--

When Harry and Draco returned, those left behind said nothing of their conversation. They seemed to not want to broach the subject of the inexplicable friendship in front of Draco. Hermione was the only one to ask about the outing—adding with practiced subtlety a hint about how boring their day had been. Harry told her it was successful; he was hesitant to say that it was good. Visiting a beloved parent's grave couldn't be described as good. While Harry replied more fully, Draco was reticent with information as if he were suddenly shy or unsure by the renewed grief over the loss of his mother.

They sat down to eat dinner. Mrs. Weasley made Draco's favorites to cheer him up—but it didn't seem to be working. Draco seemed lost in his own head—not altogether depressive, but not very lively. But he was eating and listening to the others as they buzzed about news that Avery had been arrested. The paper reported that the Aurors believe there are less than a handful of high ranking Death Eaters left to be found.

"It's strange," Hermione said, putting the paper down. "This…this has been so much of our lives. I know it has been over for a while now, but it still felt the same. Hiding out, being over cautious. But if the more powerful members are quelled…we would be almost safe." Her eyes locked with Harry's. He was grinning.

"I could move out of here. Get my own place. How 'bout it, Ron?"

Before he could stop himself, he thought that it was good Harry asked him before Draco. "Nah, I don't have the galleons for that yet, mate. I need to save up first."

Harry glanced at Draco, who intentionally seemed to be looking anywhere but him. "Still, I could probably afford one on my own for a bit." He was determined to be out for a while. After the final battle he was unsure of his future. He had wanted to be an Auror for years, but he had been doing the job for about seven years now. He was tired of fighting, tired of living in fear, and tired of barely escaping death. He wanted time to live without the title of "Boy Who Lived." He wanted to figure out who Harry Potter was with the shadow of Voldemort following him.

"I thought your brothers were going to give you a job…" Hermione said to Ron.

Ginny chuckled. "Yeah, but he won't get paid much."

Ron, meanwhile, had a sour look. "Gits. I'm family, shouldn't that come with benefits?"

Hermione laughed. "My mum and dad have already told me that they will pay up a flat for a year whenever I want one. I sent out a letter to a law firm in London, to clerk for them." She said. She had not mentioned this before.

"Law firm?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Oh, did I not tell you?" She asked, not surprised. "Mills and Brooks Law Firm is hiring assistants. They are a middle-way law firm, balancing between money-making accounts and pro-bono work in both the magic and muggle worlds—Victoria Mills is muggle and Lynn Brooks in a squib. The pay is crap, but if it's something I enjoy, I may go to university. And," She began with a proud expression, "they are interested in furthering SPEW."

"Well they must be gods then," Ron snickered. Hermione hit him. "Ow."

"You guys are so lucky to be done." Ginny said wistfully.

"We will write to you Ginny—right?" Hermione looked pointedly at Harry and Ron, who each in turn nodded vaguely. Ginny's gaze lingered on Harry, but his attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere.

Harry was surprised when he felt a gentle nudge on the leg by Draco. The shock sent a ball to the bottom of his stomach. He looked at Draco, but the other was already up and out of his chair. The blonde headed for doorway. Everyone's eyes followed him, baffled. Harry waited a few moments, deciding in his head if it was, in fact, an invitation to follow. He rose then. "Excuse me." He knew where Draco would go: the library.

"Harry, wait." Hermione grabbed his arm. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know yet." He said, wondering why they were stopping him.

"But why do you have to go?" Ron asked with a loud whisper.

"Who else does he have, Ron?" He shot back, unknowingly echoing Mrs. Weasley's sentiments.

He turned and headed for the library. Draco was staring into the fire. He was seated on the arm of a green, leather couch, shoulders lightly slumped, and fingers loosely intertwined. "Hello," Harry said, knocking lightly on the doorjamb. He entered the room and, for no particular reason, closed the door behind him.

Draco's head turned to look at Harry and the room filled with tension. "My mother was a good woman." He said, his face turning back to the firelight. Harry began to slowly advance. "She would be proud of me now; how I have changed, have grown; how much I despise what I was—what those like Avery are." Harry stopped an arm's length away from Draco, wondering where this was going. "And yet, seeing Avery's face in the paper—all of their faces as they are hunted and imprisoned, I cannot help but think that I could have been one of those faces in the paper." He leaned back and allowed his back to fall on the seat of the couch and his bottom to slide to meet it. The maneuver was mildly painful, but he didn't notice.

Harry was momentarily at a loss. He seated himself on the coffee table, his knees near Draco's ribs. "No, Draco, I don't think you could have been anything like Avery."

"Harry," His grey eyes travelled to Harry's, "these people were like blood. I grew up with them. Avery is my godfather." Harry swallowed; he hadn't known that. "And I have betrayed them so thoroughly." He brought a hand to cover his eyes as though the dim light pained him.

Slightly surprised, Harry blinked and moved to sit beside Draco. "Do you regret it?" He asked quietly

Draco's hand removed itself and he caught Harry's eyes again. He righted himself to a sitting position and turned his body to face Harry. "No, Harry, no." He said seriously. "Not for a second. What I do regret is that they could not see the light as I have. I could never regret this, Harry, regret you."

Harry put a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. "They chose, Draco, just as you did. Just like I did when a scrawny blonde kid with a haughty tone propositioned me in Madame Malkin's." they both chuckled lightly at the memory of their first meeting. "Life is about the choices me make and how we with the consequences." God, he sounded like Hermione.

"About choices." Draco echoed in an odd tone. He looked down and then back to Harry as though deciding something.

And then, without warning, he closed the space between them, pressed his lips to Harry's.

**N E X T  
**_Chapter Two: …Now What?_

"Draco, I—"

"Why are you here?" He asked quietly, interrupting.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Why was he there? He suddenly didn't know.

"Here to talk, maybe?" Draco began. "Talk about Ron and Hermione—what they would say. Talk about Ginny and how she is in love with you. Or maybe we can discuss how violated you feel. How disgusted. Or maybe that you just can't because you are not interested." Draco interjected with malice. "Well, maybe Harry Potter, I do not want to fucking talk to you!"

**read&review guys! i hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**author's note**__**:**_** wow a few days and three good reviews – that makes me happy! the preview for the next chapter thing will probably continue, though, because i am an obsessive editor the exact wording could change [though not this time]. the general gist however will be faithfully preserved. just warning you. **

**chapter two was almost written in its entirety [though not typed] when one was posted so it is a quick follow up. since school starts monday so…we'll see how it goes. also, there is very little in the way of a strict plan for how the story is going to go [i have a beginning, and an end…], so suggestions are cool. hope the follow up keeps your attention!**

**--MEG**

The Afterwards

_Chapter Two: …Now What?_

Only moments passed—but those moments felt like hours. Both boys felt their hearts pounding, making their lips throb. Harry was stunned into immobility. By the time he had gathered himself Draco had pulled away. Green met grey and they stared at each other. Neither moved: their faces only a few inches away but seemed froze in suspended animation. They took only shallow breaths, as though breathing too deeply would alert the other to their existence.

"Draco, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley's ringing voice came bounding through the room. Both youths sprang apart: Harry flinging himself to the other side of the couch and Draco rising and turning towards the door; they froze in that position. There was no one there. "Dessert is on the table!" The mother finished her joyous announcement. A collective exhale went through the room as warm realization dripped down their spines. Of course she was sending the announcement through the whole house. The others wouldn't know where to look for Draco, and Mrs. Weasley knew better than to leave Ron alone with sweets.

Draco's eyes flicked to Harry's face, which was just beginning to melt. Harry Potter's face was red just over his cheeks and on his forehead. Without another word, Draco left, unable to handle the possible consequences. He was in no mood for the company at the dinner table or for anything to eat, but his obligation bid him forth: Mrs. Weasley had done this especially for him. His own inner conflicts would have to be ignored for the woman who was like a second mother to him.

Harry blinked. Had he been able to feel anything besides the rush of relief and his burning face he may have been surprised that Draco left. He had never thought him as someone to run from conflict, as of late, at least.

Harry tried to move, but was still frozen. He couldn't feel his hands or his legs. He pressed his fingers to his redden face; the heat felt good on his skin. He felt his face cool slightly. He was not usually prone to such a fervent flush. The combination, he guessed of his emotions seemed to have triggered it.

He told himself to get up, that there was a yummy piece of something sweet waiting for him. The idea backfired, however, because his stomach sent back threats of revolution if he even put something into his mouth. Resigned to staying put, his body allowed him to lie out on the couch. Staring up at the decorated, tin ceiling, he watch the constantly changing shadows from the firelight dance over the three dimensional designs.

_What the hell was that? _He asked himself, unable to put off not thinking about it for much longer. He didn't remember Draco ever mentioning an affinity for the same sex before. He remembered Draco's school romance with Pansy, and the rumors of other girls lining up outside his bedroom door. The two hadn't ever discuss sexual prowess—it never came up in their letters—so Harry didn't know exactly how many of the stories were true. He knew some of them were, however, or so the girls in question confirmed. He couldn't imagine them all lying…didn't women want to seem virginal, or at least selective? Maybe that was just Hermione and Ginny.

Maybe Draco had only been lying. Harry knew that, though the general sentiments for the gay community in the magical world were for toleration, the Purists frowned upon it greatly. Since there was so few of them all of their children were expected to marry and reproduce, and gay relationships, of course, prevented that. Not that they didn't occur, they were just not allowed.

_Damn. So…_

_I am not gay._ He thought with such force he winced. He hadn't pulled away, though. It was shock, surely…surprise…and he was nauseous now, so there! But he was nauseous because of fear of being caught, not disgust at the kiss. He knew that. Harry sat up and rose, unable to be still any longer. He began to move around aimlessly.

He had enjoyed the feeling of his blood rushing, coursing through his veins as his adrenaline levels spiked. It had been a while since that mix of excitement, surprise, panic, and fear of kissing and enjoying it….

Shit. He had enjoyed it.

His face went red again and his body went cold. His mind kept protesting, but his physical reactions held the truth out plain. He wished he could have erased the last ten minutes from existence. _That is why civilians cannot have Time-Turners_, a random part of his brain pointed out. His mind kept echoing _No, no, no…_ while the rest of him gave a quiet, embarrassed, _Maybe. _He made a voice of strangled frustration and shook his clenched fists before relaxing them. His mind continued to battle itself, making his head ache.

And then it all stopped as a realization hit him with such force that his knees gave out from under him and he landed onto one of the red chairs adjacent to the couch.

_Oh…that's the difference._

He blinked but the room around him was gone. That was the difference: how he could feel and wish to feel close to Draco without replacing Ron and Hermione; how being with Draco was different than with his best friends; why he wanted to keep their letters and conversations secret. Was that liking a man?

He suddenly wanted Draco there, as if to test this theory. Talk to him, look at him, touch him…a hand, an arm…a…maybe…another kiss? His stomach flopped over at the thought.

Oh, Crap. It was real.

This was different than liking Ginny or Cho, which is why he didn't recognize it before, he thought with a small, sober part of his mind. Being with Cho made him feel special. She was older, popular and pretty. But her inner dramas and emotional explosions had proven too much for their fragile connection. His connection to Ginny had been stronger. He has known her for so long, and she had wanted him for most of that time. He had asked her to wait until he was free of the curse of Voldemort. But he had been, for a while now, and, still, he hadn't returned to her. And he wasn't sure he wanted to. His desire for her had been reactionary, not of his own making. Neither of his relationships had gotten to the sexual areas of love. Cho hadn't lasted longer than a few kisses, and his loyalty to Ron kept him from pawing at the youngest Weasley—however much _she_ wanted it.

And now…Draco? It all felt so unreal, like a dream….

"Knock, knock," Hermione said, opening the door—without knocking—and coming in. Harry's head shot up so face his neck pained him. "Is everything okay?" She asked, looking very concerned. She came to the couch and sat down, looking to him. "Draco looks sour and you never came back…" She was fishing, he knew it. Hermione had that female knack of knowing when something was fishy. Ron, no doubt, was finishing off his third helping of desert, completely oblivious to anything else.

"It has just been a trying day, Hermione." Harry replied as vaguely as possible. If he was to discuss his current emotional turmoil with anyone, it would be Hermione. That being said, he didn't intend on saying anything about it at all.

"Tell me about it," She said quietly.

He wouldn't speak of the main issue, but that didn't mean he had no internal conflict to discuss. "Just…we went to see his mother and I just stood and waited. It hit me—how much Voldemort ruined lives. I mean, I know he did, I've seen it. But…this seemed different. If Lucius, so encouraged by Voldemort's mania hadn't murder Draco's mother—would he still have crossed lines? Or would I have had to kill him?" That thought made his stomach plummet. "And if he hadn't killed my parents I would be normal. You all would: Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys…well, close enough. Would we even be friends? Probably, but maybe not. Regardless, at least we would be on a side we believed in. But Narcissa and Draco Malfoy would probably have both died, instead of just the one."

There was a pause as Hermione decided what to say. "Harry…you cannot live in 'what ifs'. It is done, over. Voldemort is gone and you have lived. Your life is finally your own—do not let Voldemort control it from the grave, Harry. Your life has been formulaic, doing what you had to do, what was expected, what was required. There are no more rules. You can explore yourself, your wants. But first," she emphasize with a friendly touch of the knee, "you have to get beyond the past and shadows of a possible future."

He exhaled, nodding vaguely. 'Explore yourself', she had said. It seemed she was not the only one in the house that thought that. "I think getting away will help. I considered…living in the Muggle world a while. Get away from hero worshippers and vengeful zealots." He said darkly. "Who knows? Maybe both of us will end up at a university." He head still ached, and he rubbed it lightly.

"That sounds like a good idea." Hermione encouraged. "Maybe you should lie down." She suggested.

Taking the chance at being alone again, he agreed. "Yeah, maybe turning in early will be good. You'll tell the others for me?"

"Yeah. Well, Draco already went upstairs, but I'll tell the others."

Harry nodded, hating the indescribable feeling that went through him when she mentioned Draco Malfoy. Taking that as her dismissal, Hermione got up and left him. Harry waited until he was sure she had reached the table before rising from the chair. Quietly, he went from the room and down the narrow passage way between the main living spaces to the stairs. He began to climb the stairs.

The place they stayed was not the Burrow, nor was it the home of Harry's late godfather. It was somewhere in Scotland, and not even the youths inside knew exactly where they were. None of the children were allowed out except to leave for school, and Mrs. Weasley could only go out if someone, usually her husband, could come to babysit. Since Mr. Weasley was working tirelessly with the Ministry to get it up and running again, he stayed home and visited every so often. With this new pronouncement about the dwindling rogues, however, it looked as though Harry would be able to see something that these stupid walls soon.

_At least you were able to leave for Hogwarts. Draco was trapped like this all year._ He heard himself think. He pushed the voice away, not wanting to think of Draco Malfoy.

It seemed, however, his mind wouldn't let him deny it anymore. He wondered what Draco was doing in his attic room. If he was angry, if he was crying—or if he was laughing at the horrid prank. No, it wasn't a prank: the emotion on Draco's face seemed natural enough. Draco was never good at lying, even when he was on the other side. His pride was too sensitive and he was far too emotive for that. And, now, it seemed that emotion was being channeled to Harry. He wasn't sure he liked this idea. Well, he knew he didn't like it, but it felt as though he did.

He pictured himself out with Draco. Drinking at a pub, out at a store. Talking. That all seemed good. Holding hands—getting a little stranger now. Hugging—maybe, but doubt it. Kissing? His stomach made a jerking motion so deep he paused for a moment on the stairs. The feeling was cold, hot, painful, and yet…pleasurable. He wanted it. Shaking it off, he continued his ascent. This was too much to think of. He had never, ever considered a man as someone to kiss. But…that seemed to be different.

It wasn't until he reached for the doorknob that he realized he was at the wrong door. The knob to the room he shared with Ron was simple brass and a floral design on the top. This knob was plain, smooth, without any design at all. He looked at the door and around and blinked. _Oh, shit._ He had let his body carry him on autopilot, forgetting just how much his body wanted to be with Draco that moment. So it dropped him off right outside the attic door. His own bedroom was two flights down.

He watched his treacherous hand reach up and knock on the door.

--

Draco had returned to the table, ready to sit quietly and mute any thoughts from crossing his mind. He sat down, making sure there was at least one chair between him and the others at the table. He crossed his arms at the chest, not bothering to take the shadow off of his face.

"There you are, dearie," Mrs. Weasley said in her usual, happy fashion. "I've made those lemon things you like so much." He looked down at the lemon tart; they were his favorite. A smile crossed his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you," He said quietly. She waved it away, clearly happy she could do something for him.

"Where is Harry?" Ron asked, voice somewhat obscured by the mass of lemon tart filling his mouth.

"The library." Draco said. His voice was completely devoid of all emotion. "He should be out soon."

"Are—are you alright, Draco?" Hermione asked, unsure that she should.

He didn't answer. He placed a small amount of tart in his mouth to give him an excuse to not answer. He ate in silence then, not looking at the others at the table. Ron focused only on the sweets, but Ginny and Hermione began a quiet conversation through their eyes. Draco finished his obligatory tart and rose. "Thank you. Excuse me." He mumbled. He moved quickly and quietly from the room. He hurried up the stairs and into his attic room, closing the door silently.

It was an attic. A few candles dotted the walls for light. The walls were straight for about four feet before going at an angle to a pointed ceiling. There was a hideous set of drawers from the Rococo era to the left of the door for his clothes, and a white-washed modern armoire for his hang up items, shoes, and general storage. His bed was in the center of the wall opposite from the door. It was full sized, with brass rods and finials as its design scheme. One the each side of the bed was a nightstand and gas lamp. A small desk and chair sat juxtaposed to the storage units in the corner. Beside the desk was a window. It was supposed to always be covered, but he never did. He had set up a pallet inside the window, so he could sit and watch the world.

He moved toward the window and lowered himself down. He placed his back on the small bit of wall in the window seat and drew his knees to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees and breathed in and out slowly ten times. He then gave himself three minutes to cry. As a child he had learned to not cry in front of his parents of anyone. He taught himself to cry for only three minutes, no matter what he was crying over, and then stopping. At exactly three minutes, his eyes dried and his wiped his face. He was done, all cried out.

He had put himself out there, going with his gut and not thinking at all of the repercussions—and see where it had gotten him? He couldn't believe he had done that, knowing that Harry wasn't interested—how could he be? It wasn't fair, he, Draco, had taken advantage of their fragile friendship and by-so-doing had blown it all to hell.

But Draco couldn't lie anymore. He didn't want to talk about it, but he couldn't lie. He wasn't sure what he was—gay, straight, whatever—but that didn't matter. What mattered is that he wanted Harry as more than a friend. He was certain of it. He had first noticed the difference after one of Harry's letters. It had been a while since Harry had written—almost two weeks. The letters usually came every two or three days. Draco hadn't realized how dependent on them he had become until he was left so long without word. When one finally did arrive, he had to read it three times before his heart quieted enough to hear his own thoughts. He had held the letter tight, and touched Harry's signature. The gestured sent a wave of goose bumps down his spine and he knew.

He was afraid at first—he had never felt that way towards another man. His relationship with Pansy had been familial obligation, but his somewhat less formal connections to other women of Slytherin House had been very enjoyable. He certainly liked women. He just happened to now like Harry. After that afternoon he had pushed his feels back and went about his daily routines. He would only think about it when his dreaming mind brought his fantasies to life. He hadn't planned on ever telling him—let alone kissing him.

He couldn't stop himself, however. Harry being back…intoxicated Draco. And hiding it made him feel trapped and tired. His mind had become more active during the daytime with possible romantic scenarios that were so detailed he found himself needing to be excused to lessen any possible embarrassment. There were moments when he thought Harry felt the same, but, clearly, he didn't.

_Oh, God, what am I going to do now?_ He wanted to cry again, but stopped himself. No, only once. He was certain he had alienated Harry, and that would push the others away too. He would have to leave soon, then. He was now an enemy.

He heard knocking at his door.

"Go away." He said darkly, not caring who it was. They didn't listen, the door opened.

--

Harry closed the door behind him. He didn't want to humor Draco. If he left now, he wouldn't return no matter what.

"I said 'Go away'," Draco said coldly. He looked at Harry the way he used to, hiding behind a mask he hadn't used in a very long time. Silence. Draco put his legs down and rose. "Get out of here, Potter!" He insisted, standing beside the window.

Harry's body wouldn't let him listen. He took a few steps forward. Draco sighed and leaned against the wall. He had no more energy to keep his cruel exoskeleton around him. It fell to the floor and he rubbed his eyes to erase the world around him.

Harry took a few more steps. "Draco, I—"

"Why are you here?" He asked quietly, interrupting.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Why was he there? He suddenly didn't know.

"Here to talk, maybe?" Draco began, real anger growing in his being. "Talk about Ron and Hermione—what they would say. Talk about Ginny and how she is in love with you. Or maybe we can discuss how violated you feel. How disgusted. Or maybe that you just can't because you are not interested." Draco interjected with malice. "Well, maybe Harry Potter, I do not want to fucking talk to you!"

"No, Draco—" He was standing right in front of the other boy. His heart pounded to be so close. His hands ached to reach out, to touch. It was odd—as though realizing these feelings had brought down a barrier he hadn't known existed.

"Just leave me be, Harry. I don't want to hear excuses and pointless words. I saw it on your face, I understand. Just go." He was ready to cry again, but wasn't going to give Harry the satisfaction.

Thoroughly annoyed, Harry decided a tact that he knew Draco would understand. He moved quickly, pressing Draco to the wall and kissing him as hard as he could. After a bare second, he pulled away. "I don't want to fucking talk." He said forcefully, breathlessly.

Draco looked surprised. His gave a single nod before pulling Harry's face to kiss, attacking his mouth.

--

They stood there, pressed against the wall, gluing their bodies together without embarrassment or uncertainty. There was no line where one ended and the other began, and they didn't care. Their mouths and heads moved together as though they had done this a hundred times. Hands moved without stopping, sliding, holding—roaming without care or any real purpose like children experimenting with a new toy.

They were on fire. Harry had kissed two girls, kissed one like this—but it was never _like this_. This felt like…raw instinct and pure desire. He wanted to soak it in, to bathe it in, and to never stop. Breathing be damned. Draco, meanwhile, was flying high. He wasn't sure where his body ended: the only areas he felt anything were where Harry touched him. Draco was taller, but not by much. Harry made up for the difference by standing on his toes; he was in control of the kiss.

Breath however was necessary. Harry pulled away very suddenly, stepping back lightly.

"Damn," He breathed. His face was flush, and his eyes were dark with desire. He felt how ready he was to progress further, but knew he shouldn't. Not yet. _When?_ His parts cried out for release, _Now!_ No…when Hermione and Ron know.

"Yeah," Draco said in the same tone.

The two were at a loss for words. Both were catching their breath, but they had no idea what now.

There was a knock at the door. Harry froze and they stared at the passage. "Yes?" Draco called tentatively.

"Have you seen Harry?" Ginny voice came through the door.

"No," Draco said gruffly.

"O-okay." Ginny replied. They listened hard, barely hearing her go down the stairs.

"I better…get to my room. I told Hermione I would go to bed."

"That is one idea…" Draco said as though he could suggest a better one. Harry smiled; he could think of a better one.

"Still…" He touched Draco's chest lightly. Harry leaned in for a light, quick kiss. Even that sent a shiver down his spine. "There will be more time for this later."

"And…that?" Draco had been the one waiting, after all. If Harry thought his was wanting, he had no idea how much self-control Draco was exacting to not throw Harry on the bed.

"Um…not until Ron and Hermione know. I—" He said slightly louder since Draco was about to speak, "—will tell them soon. Tomorrow." He kissed Draco again. "Sweet dreams." He whispered. Harry Disaparated to his bedroom. No one was there. He lay out on his bed. His only thought: taking care of his problem before anyone came in. It had never gone so well before.

**N E X T  
**_Chapter Three: Just Have Faith_

Harry took Draco's hand and squeezed it. He looked behind him; the girls were busy, not even looking their way. He risked the smallest kiss, thumb doing small circles on the palm of Draco's hand. It lasted a bare moment, but it was enough for now. Soon enough these stolen moments would end and they wouldn't have to hide behind dressers. Draco chuckled and winked. He turned to leave—

He ran into Ron Weasley, who seemed to have frozen in shock. "Bloody. Fucking. HELL!"

**a good follow up? hope so! keep the reviews coming guys!**


	3. Chapter 3

_**author's note: **_**i just turned twenty! happy [ late] birthday to me! lol. don't hate me but, yes, there is more internal dialogue, just as the previous chapter had. it will lessen shortly, once the mental woes have been mostly settled. this chapter's preview has been moved and changed slightly—but it is still there. mama craved: linkin park. i don't know what it was, but **_**hybrid theory**_** and **_**minutes to midnight**_** called to me as i wrote this chapter…. oh, and the m-rated content i had planned was moved to next time—chapter four, i promise!**

**--MEG**

The Afterwards

_Chapter Three: Just Have Faith_

Harry woke slowly the next morning. He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but he knew he had been exhausted by the day's emotions. He didn't open his eyes yet. Yesterday's events replied like a movie on the backs of his eyelids. He felt his mouth pull into a smile that wouldn't leave his face. Morning matters, however, had to be dealt with. He rolled off his bed in a graceful motion and tottered to the bathroom he shared with Ron. His roommate was snoring away. As he relieved himself he heard the clock ring from down stairs a total of eight times. Only eight o'clock? He did go to bed early but…still. Harry was used to waking closer to nine-thirty, ten o'clock, as did the other teens in the house. Mrs. Weasley didn't mind—she always called this time her "quiet time."

Suddenly, he felt a brick wall hit him has he toweled off his hands. Thinking of Mrs. Weasley had reminded him of his self-appointed task for the day: to tell the others in his house about kissing Draco. About them…being whatever it was they were. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that they hadn't exactly _defined_ their relationship. Did it need definition? The two had seemed to be at a consensus, and he didn't want to asking and risk offending his…uh… "Boyfriend," Harry whispered to himself. The word was startlingly sweet on his lips, like a brand new treat he had never heard of before. "Boyfriend." He repeated, this time with a foolish grin.

And now he had to tell the others. Where to start? Instead of answering himself, he wrapped his morning coat around him and quietly headed down the two flights of stairs. The house was silent; the only sound was the creak of the stairs under his toes. His heart pounded as though on the other side of the flapping door that always seemed to be slightly moving was Lord Voldemort himself. No, it wasn't, he reminded himself, it was a woman who viewed him as another son. He took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the long dining table in her usual spot nearest to the oven. She was reading what appeared to be a novel. He couldn't see the title, but it seemed to be a long tome of at least five hundred pages; she wasn't yet halfway through. This was an odd scene for him. It was rare to see Mrs. Weasley in anything but a motherly frenzy. She always seemed to be cleaning something, cooking something, or even a combination of the two. It made him smile; it made him feel better, and far more comfortable.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley." He said not too loud as to startle her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed lightly. "Harry—I didn't see you there." She closed her book back to front, still obscuring the title. He was beginning to think this was intentional, and his interest grew, though he said nothing. "What are you doing up so early?" She asked, rising from the table and clearly preparing herself to start making foodstuffs.

"I fell asleep early. No, please, sit." Harry insisted, moving towards her and gently guiding her back down into her seat. "I can eat with the others later."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, and took her seat once more. "I have never known you to turn down food, Harry." She said. She gave him a look that told him she interpreted his lack of hunger as an internal problem. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. But she is a mother, he reminded himself, this was a part of her job.

"There is something more pressing to discuss." He said. He sat down across from her. He knitted his hands and stared at them a moment.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him, her face filled with worry and love for the orphan boy. She reached out and took his hand gently. "Go on."

He opened his mouth and closed it again. How to begin? Explain everything? Or get to the point? He looked up and met her eyes with him. They were the same as Ginny's. He hadn't thought of that before: he wasn't just going to tell him pseudo-mother, he was telling Ginny's mother…. No, he had to. If not because of his promise, then because of what could happen once all was told. He looked down as he flushed lightly. Nice and quick: rip off the band-aid. One, two, three— "I'm—seeing—Draco."

Mrs. Weasley's hand clenched in surprise more than anything else; she blinked but otherwise showed no reaction. "How long has this been going on?" She asked in a sweet tone.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Not long. He…showed me how he felt last night. And I realized I liked him too." He was bright red and staring at their clasped hands. "I hadn't even considered it before, not until faced with reality…." He looked up suddenly. "I wanted to tell everyone before…things progressed." He paused. There was an awkward pause. The air was thick around them.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, straightening and rising. "I suggest you tell Ginny next. She has a right to know before the others." This was more of an order than a suggestion. Mrs. Weasley turned and began doing something on the counter.

Harry swallowed. "Are…are you okay—with us? Draco and I?" He asked, his tone pleading for a yes.

Mrs. Weasley turned, holding a small glass filled with an amber liquid. She walked towards him with purpose. "Of course, Harry. I love you like my own son," She said, touching his face to emphasize her words. "I won't lie. It will take some getting used to. But," She said in a cheerier voice, "there is no news that cannot be taken in easier with a touch of whiskey." She plopped the shot in front of him. One for her appeared in her hfands.

"But…its not even noon." Harry protested in jest. He grinned impishly up at her and picked up the glass.

"Time is but a delusion, Harry." She winked. "Cheers." She held up the shot and then slammed it back.

"Cheers." Harry replied, copying her exactly. She was right: he felt warm, content, and generally okay as the liquid made its way farther into his system.

"Ah," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile. "Just that once, Harry, mind you—and, please, don't tell Ron." She touched his head again. "The girls should surface in about a quarter hour; you should practice your speech." She advised, taking the used shot glass away.

Harry paled and swallowed. "Don't worry, dear. Just have faith." He blinked and gave her a confused look. In the seven years he had known her, she had never made reference God or any other belief system, just like most of the other wizards he knew. She smiled and clarified. "Have faith in yourself, Harry: that you have surrounded yourself in those that love you—no matter what. I think they have proven they will follow you anywhere."

--

It was almost half an hour before the girls headed down stairs. Harry had wanted to hide himself in the library, but a quelling look from Mrs. Weasley told him to stick to his guns. He considered how he should tell them. Quickly and succinctly had worked well with Mrs. Weasley, and he wondered if it would work just as well here. He didn't worry about Hermione, really. She was like his sister, and he knew she would respect him regardless—his real worry was if they would accept the object of his affection was Draco. A man was one thing—but they still had not completely adopted Draco into their circle.

And then there was Ginny. It was clear she loved him. And he had once loved her too. But the separation he had forced on their relationship proved to be the death bell for it. He felt softer towards her, still. And…if he hadn't known the feelings that touching Draco brought him, he could have settled for an adequate life with her and been happy enough. Maybe. But he did know what it was like with Draco—and that was just kissing.

He had to tell her, and tell her before the others unless…if he told Hermione first then Ginny could run to her…. He hadn't thought of that. She would probably run to Hermione for solace. Hermione first then. He motioned to her with seeming to gesture at all—a skill he had perfected in the curious halls of Hogwarts. She rose and they went into the library. Being there again brought back vivid memories of last night and he shivered.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, noticing his facial expression.

"Yes…I just need to tell you something important." He sat down and she followed. She looked at him as though preparing herself for something horrible. "It's good news—depending on how you look at it, at least." He heard the faint noise of Ron swearing as he, once again, hit himself on the slightly protruding door handle in the kitchen. His palms felt cold and moist. He rose and closed the door. Before returning. "Mrs. Weasley knows already." He felt as though he had to say that first, though he wasn't sure. "I had wanted to tell Ginny next, but then I thought she may need you…."

"Harry…what is wrong?" Hermione asked, trying to focus him. She was becoming more nervous, and slightly scared, as he spoke.

"Draco and I are…a 'we'." He said. "We are together." He rephrased, looking her dead in the eye.

Her eyes bulged in surprise. "Bloody hell." She whispered. "I didn't see that one coming." She blinked and looked away. She volleyed the idea—and the visual images it created—through her mind a few moments before speaking again. "How long?"

"Last night. He…showed me—"

"How?" She interrupted me.

"He kissed me." Harry flushed. "Later…after I had thought about it, he tried to pick a fight and I kissed him back." He was grinning stupidly again; it was all so new, and the thought of kissing Draco just made him happy.

Hermione watched his face. She let out a soft chuckle and smiled. "You seem happy." She pointed out, poking his knee. This was a lot for her to process, but his face rang the truth louder than words ever could: this was real, this was passionate. He would need a friend to explore this with. And Ron…she couldn't imagine a scenario where Ron would take this well. "Did you guys…?" She let the question hang.

"No!" Harry went completely red. "It was only last night, Hermione! And I wanted you all to know before things…_progressed_," he said tightly. "I do not want it to seem like I kept this from you." He added, more subdued.

"I appreciate that, Harry. And, even if they don't say it, the others will too." They both knew that she meant Ron. "So go on." She encouraged.

"That was it, really. We kissed…for a few minutes. Hermione…I cannot even tell you want it's like. I haven't felt that way before, not with Cho or…or Ginny." He said.

"So…you are gay, then?" She asked, trying to define him.

"I don't know. I don't think so. It's not _men_. It's just him." Harry said thoughtfully. "But, who knows? All I know is that I like Draco, and he likes me."

"I just hope this ends well." Hermione said in a sigh. She was the worrier. Harry was her brother, and she wanted him happy. But she also knew that there was unhappiness sitting in the kitchen.

"It will." He embraced her. "Just have faith."

--

Breakfast moved simply. Harry had, in between, gone upstairs and dressed simply. Ron ate obliviously, reading an owl Neville Longbottom had sent that was being passed around the table. Hermione ate slowly, looking too often from Ginny to Harry for Harry's liking. Mrs. Weasley talked about Neville's letter, praising his choice to enter Auror training for his next step. She made breakfast tolerate for the nerve-wracked Harry. Draco was missing; this worried Harry, but he couldn't do anything about it until after breakfast. He was probably sleeping late, Harry told himself as he finished his eggs.

Breakfast finished, and Ginny requested some help with her summer homework from Hermione and Harry—she knew better than to ask her brother. The three went into the library and Ron remained to fulfill his Tuesday obligation to help with the dishes. Ginny got herself set up, the whole time talking about how surprising it was that Neville had decided on being an Auror instead of doing something with plants. Hermione pointed out that it probably had a lot to do with his grandmother's wishes. Harry listened, slightly annoyed that there wasn't a break where he could make his announcement.

Ginny picked up her Charms homework and pointed out one of the questions. Harry knew she was speaking to both of them, but Harry wasn't listening. Ginny noticed and, with a roll of her eyes, she turned her body away from him. Hermione and Ginny were now both huddled around the coffee table. They were sitting on the floor.

Harry didn't want to help, but he didn't want to leave either. He had a task to do, and this was preventing it. He leaned himself on a bookshelf near the corner, watching.

His stewing, however, was short-lived: Draco had finally appeared. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb just…gazing. Harry grinned and glanced at the girls. They seemed busy enough: Professor Hermione had a pupil; they were focused elsewhere. Draco unhitched himself from the doorway and moved to stand in front of Harry, staring at the books but not seeing them. "Good morning," He said, grinning at the spines.

With another quick glance at the girls, Harry smiled at Draco. "Morning to you too." He said. He took Draco's hand, hiding it gently between them and the bookcases. Harry moved his thumb in small circles on Draco palms, causing Draco to flush.

"Mmm, I was worried you would have changed your mind." Draco whispered.

"Nope. Never." Harry replied. With a quick look at the girls, Harry leaned in and kissed the closet part of Draco he could—his shoulder—with a quick peck. Draco stifled a chuckle as Harry pulled away.

And then, cold water rushed through the room: Harry looked up to see Ron Weasley, who seemed to have frozen in shock, staring at them from the doorway. "Bloody. Fucking. HELL!" He said only slightly above a normal volume. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Ron advanced on them, pulling Harry in a jerking motion away from Draco. Harry, had gone limp and allowed Ron to pull him.

Harry had no idea what to say. Fortunately, Draco did. Problem was, it is arguable whether what he said was the right thing to say. "Is there a problem here, Weasley?" Draco asked easily, once again slipping into a mask rarely used in his post-Death Eater years.

"_Is there a…_ You rutting bastard!—of course there is a problem!" He said angrily to Draco. Ron rounded on Harry, squeezing his arm and shaking it roughly. "Harry, tell me what is going on." He said, obviously attempting to calm himself, but he was failing miserably.

Harry stared at him dumbly. He glanced to Draco, whose face suddenly looked hurt. What Draco was thinking was obvious on his face: _This is it: it is over._ Harry swallowed and pulled his arm away. "I think it is obvious 'what is going on,' Ron." Harry said, with a good amount of compassion. "Draco and I are…together."

" '_Together'?_ Since when?" Ron looked as though he had been punched in the face…and in the stomach. And the groin. He was breathing heavily, looking between Harry and Draco.

Behind Ron, Harry saw Hermione holding Ginny from behind. Ginny was standing as still and white as marble, allowing one tear to glitter down her cheek. He wanted to go to her and talk with her, but he doubted Ron would let him. "Since last night. I was going to tell you today, Ron. I was." Harry insisted.

Ron stared at him, as though at a loss for words. "No. You cannot, Harry." Everyone in the room saw the ultimatum being laid out.

Harry paused. The two friends stared at each other a moment, neither blinking. "I can, Ron. And I am." He moved to Draco and took his hand.

Ron said nothing. Minutes passed. Harry finally moved towards him, opening his mouth to say something, but Ron cut him off. "Fine." He said. Ron turned as though he was going to walk away. He stopped, looked back to Harry, and turned—punching him hard in the face. The girls gasped and Draco caught a shocked Harry as he staggered backwards. "You made a choice." Ron said dispassionately. Ron turned and left, leaving everyone inside stunned.

Everyone was frozen. Harry stared at the door. Draco, still holding Harry lightly, stared at him. Hermione seemed as though she couldn't decide what to do, glancing from the door, to Harry, and back again. And Ginny gawked at Draco, as though she had never seen him before.

The tension was changed when Mrs. Weasley suddenly came into the room, feather duster in hand. She stopped in the doorway as everyone's eyes shifted to her. She realized two things: one, that no one in the room wanted it to be her going through the door; and, two, that something emotionally catastrophic had occurred. "Oi, what's going on in here?" She asked, looking at each child in turn.

Hermione, compelled because she was asked a question she knew the answer to, spoke. "Ron saw them do…something." She said, gesturing vaguely in Draco and Harry's direction. "And he…he didn't react at all well."

Mrs. Weasley looked to Harry more closely. She saw the smallest drop of blood under his nose. "Merlin's beard!" She said in quiet surprise. She moved to him, suddenly wielding a handkerchief. She dabbed his nose lightly. Harry made the smallest sound of pain, but, really, he had had worse. "It's not so bad." She said more to Draco – who seemed to be expecting this to be a fatal injury all of a sudden. "It should be allowed to heal on its own. It's not broken, just bruised." She brought her hand down to flick her wand, which was tied to her waste in case of need, and a chilled towel flew into the room. "Keep that there for fifteen minutes."

She let out a breath and straightened away from her patient. "Okay then. Hermione, you and I are going to speak with my son." Hermione could stop the thought _Good cop, bad cop_ from coming to her mind. "Harry, you are going to lay down while that chills—Yes, Harry." She added sternly when he began to protest. "You can use the girl's room. Go on," Mrs. Weasley prodded in a voice that made any protest impossible. Harry did as she said, detaching himself from Draco.

Harry went through the doorway and down the small hall to the stairs. The girls' room was just off the first flight. It was the largest of the rooms since it had the most storage. It held most of Harry and Ron's school items because it its excess. Harry went inside and immediately felt uncomfortable. He felt like he was intruding on their privacy. He did exactly as he was told—they couldn't get too mad at him, then, right?—and moved towards the most organized side of the room and laid on that bed. He assumed, correctly, that this was Hermione's side.

He pressed the cold pack to his face. _Was there really no magical way to do this? _He thought to himself. It was best to just ice it, however, he knew that. He had lived a strictly muggle life for eleven years. He wanted to retain his muggleness—which, for the barest moment, seemed equivalent to his "humanness"—as much as possible. He did not want to be someone who could not translate easily from one world to the next. Although his time in the muggle world hadn't been the best, it was still the world his mother had been born into.

He settled himself down. Hermione's bed was very comfortable, he noted, and, though it was still only morning, he found himself very tired. Not physically, but his mind was weary enough for them both.

Ron hated him. Whether just for now or forever, he didn't know. But the fact that Ron hated him at all was painful. They had fought before, and Ron had been just a stupid, jealous prat. But this was more than that. Though Harry had not answered the "Am I Gay?" question, he was still deeply affected that Ron could not accept that, regardless of his orientation, he did like Draco. Granted, that wasn't the best way to tell him, or show him as it were. Of course Ron wouldn't react well. But hitting him and leaving? That shocked Harry.

What would he do? Wait until Ron came around? Was whatever this was between him and Draco worth loosing someone who was like a brother to him? But, if Ron felt the same, couldn't he get passed his own beliefs to accept this relationship? Harry knew that Ron wasn't really a bigot, so he had to assume that it was just because it was Draco. Because of how Draco was. Mrs. Weasley was right that Ron hadn't ever shown any real interest in getting to know the new Draco. It seemed a lot to ask of him to acknowledge that Draco had even changed.

Was it worth it to lose Ron? No, it wasn't. But that didn't mean he was going to stop with Draco. He couldn't bear the thought of stopping, especially when thoughts of going further were so vivid in his mind. Maybe it wasn't fair that he chose fantasy, or maybe it wasn't choosing fantasy, but choosing his own happiness over the happiness of others. However he looked at it, he found himself partially alone.

There was only one solution, then. Ron had to acquiesce.

--

"And me, Mrs. Weasley?" Draco said dryly, leaning once again on the bookshelves. He watched Harry leave, aching to follow.

"You are needed here." Mrs. Weasley said, looking at him before pointedly glancing to her daughter. "Come on, Hermione. If left to long her may begin to think he won." Hermione shuffled out of the room without a word.

Draco continued to lean, awkwardly now. He looked anywhere but at Ginny. He knew, in her way, that Mrs. Weasley was trying to help her daughter—and, in a way, him as well. He hadn't thought of this entirely from Ginny's perspective. In love with Harry as she was—it was beyond obvious, so much so she seemed to not hide it anymore—and with Harry being so connected to the family, it seemed no question that they would marry and all would be well.

No question—until now. He was glad—no, that wasn't the right word, but he couldn't find one that quite worked for the amount of relief he felt—that Harry didn't seem to be changing his mind about exploring a relationship with him. It was a double-edged sword, however—in essence, Harry was choosing a budding relationship over those who were the only loving family he had experienced. Draco knew that, given the chance, he could certainly give Harry happiness, love, and stability. But he was only one person—he couldn't give the sense of family.

"Do you have anything to say to me, Draco?" Ginny's voice came steady and quiet.

Draco's head snapped up to look at her. He had almost forgotten her. He detached himself from the bookcase. "Like what, Ginny?" He asked, shyly. "I have no explanations to give you. I have no excuses—"

"What about an apology?" She cut in, her voice breaking now. Her face cracked, trying to suppress a multitude of emotions. "Why don't you apologize for breaking my heart?"

He moved slowly to her, grabbing her hands in his. Draco breathed out slowly. "I am sorry for causing you pain, Ginny. It was not my intention…."

"Not your intention?" Her voice became a little louder before petering out. She jerked her hands away. She was trying to not lash out. "Whether it was your intention or not, it happened. You seduced him away. He was perfectly happy being with me once school ended. But, no, you had to come in and take him." She was almost yelling. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy. More than ever." She slapped him.

Her hand met a stone face. He head didn't move under the attack. When she seemed to be gearing up for another attack, he took her wrists, holding them down. "No, no Ginny." He said quietly. "I didn't do this against you. It just…was."

"You don't even know him." She charged, deflated. He let go of her as she shrunk away.

"I do, Ginny. We talk, he and I. Did all year." Draco replied. "This wasn't over night. It just…is."

She motioned to reply but was at a loss.

"He was willing to marry you, Ginny. He does love you." She blinked. "But not…not enough. He would be happy, yes, but not passionate."

"He told you this?" She asked, incredulous, but hurt.

"No. But sometimes we just know things about those we love."

That startled her. "You love him?" She asked.

He thought a moment. "I think I will. Right now…it's still new." He said, flushing and looking down.

She touched his face lightly. "You will. I hope he doesn't break your heart too." She let go and turned away. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone." He heard her whisper quietly. She left then. He wondered where this left them…. Could she forgive him? Couldn't she understand what it was to feel for Harry? How to want…and not touch…and suddenly be given the chance?

He could certainly understand how it was to not be able to do so. He could only imagine how it felt for her, now. He moved swiftly out of the library, meeting her in the hallway. He took her arm gently, turning her around. She stared at where his hand met her arm. She was crying silently. "I will love him, Ginny. Love him for you. So you can move on. Have faith in me. Just have faith." He whispered fiercely. She nodded lightly and turned and walked away.

--

"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley busted into his bedroom without preamble.

Ron, who was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, jerked and cowered for a second. His mother may be short and a little dumpy—but she was fearsome when riled. His fear subsided and he steeled himself. "Go away mum." He said, with quite a lot of strength.

"Ron…" Hermione said, quieter, coming out from behind Ron's mother. He was visibly surprised to see her. Hermione paused a moment, waiting for the proper words. There were none. "What the hell was that?"

"_You _are asking me that? Shouldn't you be asking Harry that?" He retorted.

"No, you—what the hell kind of a reaction was that? I mean…I know it wasn't the greatest of ways to find out but…."

"How the hell are you two taking this so calmly?" He interrupted. Then, it dawned on him. "YOU KNEW!" He roared. "You fucking knew!"

"Watch your tongue!" Mrs. Weasley cut in. "Yes. He told me this morning."

"And I." Hermione added, shrinking back at his anger. "He was going to tell you today too. After Ginny.

"That is such a comfort, _thank you_." He replied harshly, rising. "It doesn't matter when he was supposedly going to tell me. The point is—"

"The point is that Harry is your friend."

"He is fucking the enemy!"

"One more harsh word out of you, laddie, and I will be sure you are red for a month!" Mrs. Weasley, who was now advancing, said harshly. "Draco hasn't been the enemy for quite a long time, if you hadn't noticed. And he cares for Harry—I have seen it. And do not think so harshly of Harry as to believe that he would have this great secret romance behind your back."

Ron stopped. "It's disgusting."

"No its not you moron." Hermione said, sitting beside him on the bed. "And you know it." He grunted, not willing to admit she was right. He really wasn't judgmental…but it was one thing to accept homosexuals—it was another when one was your best friend. "At least this answers our questions." She said in a sigh.

"Questions?" He asked, confused.

"As to why he can want to be with Draco as much as us. As to how it's different." She put her hands on his. "Right now, you need to calm down and think about this. You love Harry, he is your closest friend. You cannot leave him now. Not after all we have been through. This is an interesting development, yes, and will take time to get used to. But we have to."

"Why, Hermione? Why do I have to?" He asked her, seriously.

"Because it is either that or loose someone else you love. And I think we have lost enough of those." Ron nodded lightly. Hermione squeezed his hand. "It will get easier. Just have faith."

--

Harry hadn't realized how much time had gone by until Draco came through the door. Harry was half asleep, with the cooling rag still on his face, now almost room temperature. He said nothing as Draco moved to the bed. "That was tiring." Draco said cryptically. Harry didn't ask him what was tiring, but instead shimmied over. Draco collapsed onto the excess room on the bed. He rolled to face Harry. "How is your face?"

"Better." Harry replied, opening and closing his eyes slowly.

"Someone is sleepy." Draco said, lightly amused.

"Mmhmm," Harry said, nodding. "I think it's a potion on the rag. It smells warm." He whispered, falling asleep.

Draco leaned in to smell it. So close to sleep himself, he began to feel drowsy instantly. "Sleep then." He whispered, closing his eyes as well.

--

All of the children were summoned from their respective corners of the house with Mrs. Weasley ran the proverbial lunch bell. Hermione and Ron came in first; Ron with his usual enthusiasm for food undimmed by the morning's events. Ginny came quietly next, positioning herself between Hermione and her mother. She didn't say a word, but her face was red enough to speak for her. Harry and Draco came last, still drowsy. They were holding hands—not to make a point, but because they didn't even notice. It was hard to not touch each other.

All eyes were purposely on the food, and no one spoke.

As they got up from the table, Harry moved himself in front of Ron. He put out his hand, waiting for it to be shaken. No one moved; everyone watched. Ron stared at the hand, then Harry, and back again. Without a word, Ron took the hand, pulling Harry in and wrapping his other arm around him. "No matter what," He said, "you are my best mate. I'll be here for you."

--

**N E X T**  
_Chapter Three: A Whole New World_

"Are you sleeping?"

"No—why?"

"Can I join you?"

"Y-yes."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

**I see there are quite a lot of favorites for this story—thank you! Don't forget to review as well :]. Also, about the preview, that scene does contain action to go with the dialogue…but it's more fun keep that out for now.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**author's note:**_** so we got the big reveal over—i cannot tell you how hard that was to write. [****torchwoodfan13, i hope it lived up to your expectations, since that kind of scene seems that is important to you ;)—yes, guys, i do check out my reviewers.]**

**anyway—sexual content **_**is**_** in this chapter [i know—finally!]. please, if you are emotionally unprepared to read it, don't.**

**about the neighborhoods…i looked them up. got some basic stuff off of tourist sites and googled for maps. may be accurate, may not be; i really don't care that much…i put in some effort at least, give me some credit for that. any other details, like store names or streets or geographical positions are made up. just making that clear.**

**also, i am glad the previews are appreciated. they help me as well, actually, to get stuff to you quicker. the length of time it took to get ch3 up will probably be the norm for now; in the least, the average.**

**and, i just realized i never put a disclaimer on this story…but if you think i'm mrs. rowling, even or as good as her, i thank you for the complement, but you need to get your head checked. and, holy god, this is the longest author's note ever. sorry! story now!**

**-MEG**

The Afterwards

_Chapter Four: A Whole New World_

Week one of the post-Harry-and-Draco announcement went along with more ease than anyone would have guessed. Since there was no "going out" for the budding couple, they would usually claim the library for an hour after dinner to be alone. They were careful to not flaunt their relationship too much. One, because it wasn't fair to Ron or Ginny, both of whom tolerated the couple in varying degrees. And, two, because they still lived in tight quarters. It was hard enough beginning with someone you saw all the time—to alienate those who were your escape would be disastrous. Harry would usually go to Hermione to talk about Draco, and occasionally Ron as well. Draco had Mrs. Weasley, and occasionally Hermione.

During their hour "dates" they would kiss or talk. But, usually, they read to each other. They had very different tastes in books: Draco likes classics, and Harry likes modern historical-fiction—if, that is, he had to read at all. But Harry liked listening to Draco read anything from _A Tale of Two Cities_ to _The Great Gatsby _to the more modern _The Book Thief_. They would sometimes play games, though Harry learned quickly to not play Scrabble with Draco.

Both, however, yearn for real dates. Going out, having dinner. Harry wanted to introduce Draco to muggle things like going to the cinema. It seemed that this was going to be an unrealized dream until the next Monday night after dinner.

"I have an announcement." Mrs. Weasley said in an ominous tone. They all looked at her. Automatically, Draco grabbed Harry's hand under the table, as if to create a bond against whatever she was going to say.

"What?" Hermione, as always, had to say something.

"In a week's time, we shall vacate our safe house."

Incredulous looks filled the faces around her. "You mean…we can leave? Move out?" Hermione asked, her face changing into joy.

"The ministry suspects only two of the inner circle are left, and our sources say that they have gone abroad. Plus—you all cannot stay here, packed in like sardines." Mrs. Weasley said in a flat tone. "So…have you decided your plans? You can always come stay at the burrow." She said to Harry, Hermione, and Draco. They merely sat, stunned and thinking of the possibilities. Mrs. Weasley giggled and wondered off. With a sigh, Ginny got up from the table and went upstairs; it didn't matter much to her, she was leaving in a few weeks for her final year at Hogwarts.

Automatically, Harry and Draco rose and went into the library. It was old hat now; and, once there, neither even considered returning. This was their time. Draco sat, relaxed, on the couch. Harry moved and laid himself down, putting his head on Draco's lap. Draco laid his hand on Harry side, just under his chest. This was their usual position.

"So…what do you think?" Harry asked of his boyfriend.

"Thank Merlin!" Draco said with a chuckle.

Harry laughed. "No, seriously. _We get to leave_." Harry said wistfully, as though it were merely a dream and not reality.

"And where will you go?" Draco said in a light tone. It was false, however. He was nervous about Harry's plans.

"I want an apartment, like I said before." Harry said thoughtfully. "I think…or, I've been thinking about be a muggle for a while."

"A muggle?" Draco asked, both confused and surprised.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, looking eyes with Draco. "Living without magic. Getting a job. Maybe university."

"…Why?"

Harry sat up and turned himself to face his boyfriend. "To get away from Harry Potter, Draco. You know that." Harry replied, his brow creasing. Draco did know that—Harry had said it before. His legacy was a rope around his neck, even with—or, probably made worse by—Voldemort's death.

"I do…"Draco admitted, staring away from Harry.

"Then…oh," Harry realized Draco's surprise. "I'm leaving behind the magical world, Draco. Not you." Harry put a familiar hand on Draco's thigh. Draco said nothing, merely swallowing. "Will you come with me?"

That got Draco's attention. "Come with you? I can't—I don't know anything about muggle or how they live. It's all ridiculous to me—"

"So? You can learn. Or find a magical job and just be a muggle in public—city dwelling wizards have done that for ages." Harry knew Draco's dream was a large house in the middle of nowhere, from which he could flu or Apparate to his wizarding job without seeing a muggle at all. Though not prejudiced, really, he merely wished to not have to inconvenience himself for them.

Draco said nothing; he was thinking. Whenever Draco was seriously considering something, his grey eyes would squint slightly as he stared at nothing while his mouth curved into a slight frown. It was one of his mannerisms Harry had already learned.

"Think about it. We could get jobs—meaningless jobs since we both have funds to sustain us. Make friends, be normal." He paused. And then an idea occurred to him that, oddly enough, he had never thought of before. "We could live together."

Draco looked at him, flushing. His mind went from living with Harry—which, honestly, they had been doing for quite some time—to the more private aspects of living together. Harry nodded, grinning mischievously. "Really?"

"Sure." It didn't seem like a big deal—they had been living together for a while, after all. Neither saw any problems with the idea, instead focusing on the perks. "You can take the job with the ministry if you want, or find something else."

"What will you do?" Draco asked of Harry.

"I am not sure yet. Maybe work in retail and save up money for school. Or got to school slowly as I work or bypass university altogether." He ticked off the possibilities one his fingers. "I am not sure yet. Just something. Something non-magical." Draco hand came to meet Harry's. "You do not have to, of course. I do not mind coming to see you, wherever you settle." He added. He wasn't going to ask permission to do this from Draco, and he wasn't going to demand Draco do it as well. Especially since Draco had almost no experience with the muggle world.

"No, I want to live with you." Draco said, putting a stress on 'live' that added other meanings to it. "But I will take the Ministry position. I think it needs a Malfoy to help fix it, since a Malfoy helped destroy it." He said. "It's just an assistant's job, anyway. Nothing too evil."

"Okay then." Harry leaned in and kissed Draco slowly. "Where do you want to live?"

They talked over their usual hour time, but no one came to disturb them. They dreamed and fantasized, discussing anything from what jobs Harry should look for—Draco said a hot dog vendor [one of the few strictly muggle jobs he knew about]—two the type of flat they should rent. And whether it should actually be a flat or a small house. A flat seemed to be the consensus.

At some point, while discussing whether or not to paint the possible flat—it is a rental after all, why fix up a place you do not own?—Draco kissed Harry gently. Greedily, Harry held Draco to his mouth. Draco's brows raised in mild surprise, but he kept their mouths—and tongues—active. When he finally was allowed to pull away, he muttered, "That was nice." He stared into Harry's eyes so solidly that Harry shivered. Without a word, Harry pushed himself against Draco, grabbing him by the collar before pulling him down…down…to lay atop of the smaller youth. This was new; they separated their mouths for a few moments to appreciate this new scenario better. They had always been careful with affection, always aware someone could come in, and always mindful of the other's sensitivities. Right now, however, neither cared. Neither could even feel anything beyond where their bodies touched.

If either needed anymore confirmation that the other was interested, it was evident now. Easy felt even between layers of fabric. Draco leaned down then, slowly, drawing out the anticipation, this feeling. Harry couldn't take slow, and he leaned up a few inches to meet Draco's mouth. As if given permission, Draco kissed hard, and fast. It was a kiss one gave before going off to war; but he wasn't going anywhere.

Draco slid one elbow straight downward on Harry's side to ground himself on the back of the couch cushion. He leaned slightly on that side. His knees were bent on either side of Harry's, so his hips were directly on top of his boyfriend's. This left his left hand free, to roam. It drew slowly down Harry's side until it came to the bottom of his shirt. It moved upwards only about half a foot, this time under Harry's shirt. Skin on skin burned as they kissed. Needing breath, they broke apart. They breathed heavily on each other.

But they couldn't stop. Or, Draco couldn't at least. He had always been an active lover—no pauses or delicate moments. He couldn't not be touching, kissing, or rubbing something, or, rather, someone. To this end, he leaned down and Harry, as though reading Draco's mind, turned his head to the right, eyes closed. Draco's mouth kissed, sucked, and bit at Harry's neck, throat, and as much of the rest of him that could be reached from the top of Harry's t-shirt. Harry groaned lightly as Draco made his progression across his Adam's apple and to the other side. Feeling ignored, Harry's mouth maneuvered itself back under Draco's own, and disciplined it for leaving him alone; Draco didn't seem to mind.

They didn't leave the rest immobile, however. While the mouths were busying themselves, their bodies began to move together. No conscious decision was ever made, nor did they realize the movement until they felt the pleasure from it. It began in gentle motions, the body moving as the head and upper body did—up, down, around, all ways. They felt each other more clearly, then, and the phrase "is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" came to Harry's rather perverse mind. But the time soon came that he could not think at all. As their mouths battled, Harry's hands grabbed at Draco's hips, pulling the down and moving them to create more feelings. Draco listened, speeding up. Soon, stifled noises of bliss were more common than breathing.

It didn't take long.

Harry was red faced as he went into the room he shared with Ron. His roommate was not there; he must be with Hermione and Ginny, Harry decided. He was glad for the time alone. He grabbed clean sleeping clothes and headed for the shower to clean up his own mess.

He showered quickly; his kneed were still weak. He wanted nothing more than to lie down. But he wanted to lie beside Draco…but he couldn't. Ron and Ginny were trying, but, still, every once in a while one would wince or twitch at something the couple did or said. Not until they were released would they stay the night with each other.

The idea sounded so perfect. He wanted a home with Draco. Have normal together time, go out with friends, come home and not sleep and then awaken in the morning wrapped in each other, exhausted and glowing. He felt himself readying again, and stayed in the water long enough to finish off his second round of the evening. He climbed out of the shower and dried himself off slowly. He watched himself in the mirror. He never had been one to look at his naked body. At the Dursley's his showering time was limited—not just because of their rules, but also because his showers were always devoid of warm water. At Hogwarts it was a "get in, get out" deal that never warranted self-admiration. Now, however, he couldn't help but take a moment.

The sight of his own body didn't arouse him. It was just skin covering muscles and various other parts as he had learned in his muggle schooling. He was shorter than the average man. He hovered around five-six, five-seven. Within that package, however, he was solidly built enough. Years of quidditch—which did take a remarkable amount of athletic ability—and of constantly being on the run for his life had created a thin, lightly muscled frame. One that Draco obviously felt appealing.

He hadn't seen Draco naked—in fact, he hadn't even seen him shirtless. He shivered, imagining how Draco looked. Draco was a good deal taller than Harry, nearing six feet tall. Draco was of a thicker build, one of someone trained to be strong, and yet one of someone who never had to worry about having a three-course (or more) meal. He had more defined arms, and legs. Harry wondered how his chest felt; his back was definitely tight and strong from the feel of it. He wanted to know for sure. To see it.

He felt the molten lava flow in his stomach, and his nether region began to react. The volcano wanted to blow. He looked down, as if to say "A _third_ round?" but the feeling was genuine enough. He wanted more than his hand, but was too nervous to seek out help again.

Things have changed, already. Started, and yet ended. He was hyper-aware now, as though he could feel Draco move about in his room one floor up. He looked to the ceiling. He wanted to know what was going on up there. He wanted…he wanted…he wanted. He had never really focus on his shallow desires—other things had always been more important.

Now, however, he was a creature made of desire. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He dressed and went to bed. He pretended to sleep when Ron came in half an hour later. At some point, he softened and fell asleep.

He awoke last. Stubbornly, he held onto the last of his dream, even though he wasn't sure what it was about. He only knew it was exciting. He didn't even know if it was a good dream, but when he surfaced his heart was racing as though he had been running.

Draco rose out of bed, slightly stiff but very much awake. He showered and dressed quickly. He glanced at the clock as he put the last strand of hair in place: he had missed breakfast. _Damn_. He shrugged it off and headed downstairs. When he reached the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley wordlessly pointed to the sitting room. Draco nodded and redirected to the room beside the library. It was slightly larger than the library, with several mismatched couches and chairs. Ron was seated alone, as was his sister beside him, on their own separate chairs. Hermione and Harry were together on the couch, pointing at what appeared to be a map of London. Ron looked up and gave him a nod and a weak, though welcoming smile. Draco returned it in thanks. Ron was still trying; he hadn't yet made it to acceptance yet. He wondered how long it would take, or if Ron was just biding his time until Harry chose Ginny. Ginny spoke a sweet hello before turning to the transfiguration book in her lap.

Hermione and Harry looked up as Ginny greeted Draco. "Morning." Hermione said, the warmest of the greetings so far. Harry smiled, a touch of pink rising on his cheeks. Draco wondered at the slight blush. Was it because of what happened on the couch? He thought it must be. Draco moved in further, walking around the back of the couch to sit on Harry's side, on the floor by his knees.

"Morning." Draco said. Harry touched his head tenderly. They didn't kiss, not in front of the youngest Weasley children. "What are you two doing?" He asked, gesturing towards the map.

"We are deciding where to live." Hermione answered before Harry could.

"We have decided on London." Harry informed him, even though he already knew. "Hermione has settled on Holburn—"

"It's were the barrister's office is. Mills and Brooks is right there." She said, pointing at an intersection. Draco couldn't read the street names. "The flat mum and dad have found for me isn't far from there. A few blocks or so."

"And I was looking at Bloomsbury." Harry said to Draco. "It's near the University College of London. It's also near Holburn so Hermione won't be far." Draco noted Ron's face becoming surlier by the second. He found a perverse sense of satisfaction that, for the first time in a while, it wasn't he who was causing that look. "And, if you are at the Ministry, you need only to floo there. And it's near shops and things for me to work."

Draco smiled, amused at how much thought had already gone into this. He glanced to Ron and Ginny; they did not seem surprised that Harry was considering his future residence with Draco in mind. He must have already told them. Draco glanced at the map. "Sounds good to me. It's a nice area, from what I remember."

"It is."

"A little stuffy, maybe. Soho would be more fun." Ginny said, coming out of her textbook.

"Not a stuffy as Mayfair." Hermione pointed out. "And Soho is close by."

"Plus, _you_ are not the one living there." Harry pointed out.

"True." She went back to studying.

Her brother was giving Harry a look that begged Harry to die now. "What?" Harry asked, seeing the expression as his attention left Ginny.

"It's just so not fair." He complained. From Harry and Hermione's reaction, this was not the first time he had said this today.

"Get a job, Ron, and see what happens. Maybe you can shack up with Hermione." Draco said. He couldn't help but grin as both Ron and Hermione went slightly pink. Harry's knee nudged him; he looked up to find Harry grinning.

"You will only be a floo ride away, Ron." Harry said, trying to control his curling lips.

"Yeah…sure…." Ron said, as though he didn't believe Harry one bit.

Harry yawned widely. Draco looked up, concerned. "You okay?" He asked, wrapping an arm around Harry's calf and squeezing lightly.

Harry nodded. "I didn't sleep well," he said vaguely.

"Having nightmares?" Hermione asked this time; she easily slipped into the fear that Harry's nightmares had once created. She was alert…just in case. She seemed to be the only one not focused on the new couple. Her thoughts were more varied—to their lives now afterwards, and how the state of their dual worlds would affect that.

"No," Harry said, putting a quelling hand on her knee. "Just thinking about leaving here. What it would mean, what could happen."

"Oh," Hermione said, with an understanding nod. "It's all going to be different. But we will all be here." She smiled and Draco squeezed him again, affectionately.

There was a silence, then. No one was sure of what to do. Anticipation was killing the present; they could only think beyond right now.

"Anyone for a game of scrabble?" Hermione proposed, gesturing to the board game on the bookshelves. Harry and Ron gave her a sour look, but Draco volunteered. He was the only one who could really match Hermione's skill; this was not the first time they had played each other. The other two boys—Ginny was focused on homework—decided to watch. If anything, watching Draco and Hermione play was amusing.

The board was set up on the coffee table and Draco and Hermione took their places. They drew their tiles, as well as the deciding tile. Draco went first. He studied his letters. Poker face intact, he laid out "TAXED," for thirty points. Hermione grimaced. She looked at her own and settled with "LAITY," for a mere ten. Slightly less than halfway through, Hermione triumphantly put down "RAINBOWS," off of Draco's "SLAVE," for an extra fifty points. Draco, ever stoic in contrast to Hermione's glow, would eventually add "CLOYING" to the table, adding the "C" to his past move of "ABLE." In the end, they were close at each other. With a final placement of a "Q" beside a lone "I," Hermione won, 356 to 352. Ron smiled at Draco's plight, and Hermione celebrated by trying to keep her grin to a minimum. She had officially pulled ahead in the stats now.

Draco shrugged and held out a hand. Hermione took it easily.

Another end to a dull morning. It felt weird to Harry as he realized this fact: they only had three more of these left.

Thank God.

Friday night was the most stressful. So close to freedom—they left Sunday—and yet so far. "The day after tomorrow" was possible the most aggravating phrase in the English language. Dinner was quiet and strained. Mrs. Weasley had more-or-less learned to not create conversation when the children were in these moods. Ginny's mood had become so dark she rarely talked at all. Ron was sour because he had no exciting life to look forward to. Hermione was worried for everyone, but mostly for herself and her new independence. And Draco and Harry were worried about their relationship and how it would change.

When dinner adjourned, Draco and Harry lingered to float the dishes to the sinks. Mrs. Weasley dismissed them, but Draco insisted on helping and stayed. Harry, not having such a desire, went for the sitting room. Hermione and Ron were there, talking. Something about their tone and stance made Harry hesitate.

"It's not fair. I wish I could come with you lot—but, no, I have to stay home." He moaned as he leaned against the mantle.

"You could always come stay with me." Hermione said with a slight edge. Ron had been whining all week, and everyone was over it. She moved towards him, standing before him as though daring him to say no. Her heart pounded, the only thing betraying her nerves.

"No…I can't." He replied, suddenly quiet and pink-faced.

"Why not?" Hermione prodded. She had been trying to get him to give in all summer—though subtly. Harry had once asked her why she didn't make the first move, since it was _so bloody obvious_, but she insisted that Ron had to be ready.

"Because we are not Harry and Draco." Hermione blinked, as did the well-hidden Harry: Ron hadn't ever referred to the couple as one. He had only spoken of them separately until now. With his statement, however, Ron had left through another passageway. Hermione lingered, looking disappointed. Harry entered, and, wordlessly, embraced her.

Saturday was exciting. Everyone packed all morning, gleefully putting minimizing items into their trunks and packs. The rooms were bare but for the luggage, which, after a light lunch, was moved towards the door. The plan was to move them in early morning to the Burrow. From there, they would be allowed to leave at will. Draco finished packing first, and raced downstairs. He had decided he would be the one to cook tonight: he wanted to make his mother's lasagna recipe—on that _she_ had never made herself, but was very good anyway.

He prepared the layers quickly while the others packed. He placed them in their specific order—it was vital to the end result—and put the pan on ice for now. It would take just over an hour to cook. By the time he finished (it took just over half an hour to prepare), the others had dripped downstairs, talking excitedly. He asked Ron where Harry was, and Ron told him Harry was taking a nap: he hadn't slept well again.

Draco's forehead furrowed in concern. He left the kitchen and went upstairs. He opened the door quietly and closed and locked it behind him. "Are you sleeping?" He asked.

Harry was laid out in comfortable pants, eyes open but not seeing anything. He blinked and rolled his head to look at the door. "No—why?" He asked, beginning to rise.

"Can I join you?" Draco asked, moving towards the bed. He lay down before Harry had the time to answer. Draco also wore comfortable pants, but he had a t-shirt on as well.

"Y-yes." Harry said, shifting over to allow Draco beside him. He felt smaller than usual as Draco wrapped himself around Harry. He liked it. He rolled over to put his back together. Draco wrapped one around Harry's torso, the other under his head. Draco wasn't tired, but Harry seemed relaxed enough for sleep.

Draco grinned to himself. He kissed the back of Harry's neck lightly. He felt Harry's shiver as it ran down his body. "Are you nervous?" He whispered as he continued the light pecks.

There was a short pause before Harry rasped a quiet, "Yes." His stomach was fluttering, his skin was crawling—in a pleasant way—and his parts were certainly responding to Draco's small kisses. He hated how easily roused he was; he felt pathetic because of it. He felt pathetic afterwards, that is: during he felt nothing but anticipation and bliss. And, of course, nerves. It was at moments like this he realized that they had never discussed sex—as though neither wanted to broach the subject, though it was clearly on their minds.

And then, Harry almost lost himself all together: Draco's hand was slowly roaming downward, farther than it had ever gone before. It passed his naval and hit hair and Harry let out a choke sigh. "Do you want me to stop?" Draco whispered in his ear. The feeling of that alone would have gotten him going.

"No." He managed to say. His eyes were shut tight and the visions there made the moment all the more hot. Draco's hand continued its plunge. It reached its destination and began to gentle pleasure the organ found there. In an effort to pleasure himself, Draco rubbed himself on Harry's behind—unknowingly adding to Harry's enjoyment. Neither could speak; they only could pant and moan.

Minutes passed, but they didn't notice. When it ended, they lay there, waiting for the climax to pass, excited for life when they would truly be alone.

Harry was flushed as dinner was served. Even _looking_ at his boyfriend got him excited. His body had not forgotten their afternoon delight, and it clearly wanted more. Every so often Draco would catch his eye and Draco would also blush. It did annoy Harry, however, that Draco was clearly in better control of himself. He knew that was probably because co-pleasure wasn't a whole new world for Draco. It embarrassed him further. Eventually, they would have to talk about it.

Meanwhile, the table was abuzz with excitement and anticipation. Hermione mused allowed that this was probably what criminals felt like the night before release. It made the table laugh. They may not be criminals—the opposite, really—but they had been jailed long enough to count themselves as prisoners. Hermione detailed her job at the barrister's office, listing with great pride her tasks and duties. The Weasleys ate the details more thoroughly than Draco's lasagna. His mother's recipe was a great success, and prompted Mrs. Weasley to beg for the recipe. Draco said no, of course, and that is was a special family dish.

Hermione's subject eventually dwindled in importance and everyone seemed like they were thirsting for a new topic.

Mrs. Weasley found one: "So, Draco, I hear you are moving to muggle London." She said, satisfied with her piece of obvious gossip.

Draco smiled, and took Harry's hand under the table. Harry smiled, remembering with perversity where that hand had been earlier. "Yes." Draco said brightly. "I'm going to have to learn how to live in a whole new world."

**N E X T**  
_Chapter Four: Let's Talk About Sex_

"We had sex last night..."

"_What?"_

"In the kitchen..."

"_What?"_

"At the Burrow..."

"Holy Shit!"


	5. Chapter 5

_**author's note: **_**i am so sorry everyone! stupid school and drama are getting in the way of truly important things -_-.**

**again, let's remember i am just a floridian who's only experience outside the country is a cruise to the bahamas almost three years ago (that's such a strange thought). so it may not be entirely culturally accurate. sorry.**

**special notes to my reviewers:**

**potterslittlesister—no, actually, i do not watch **_**ncis**_** – i am more of a **_**law & order: svu**_** and **_**criminal minds**_** girl. my boss does though. no, im just a scrabble addict – as is, oddly enough, my boss. "qi" and "xi/xu" are probably two of the most amazing moves in scrabble if done right.**

**kisa167—thanks for the constant and unwavering love!**

**avila—[thank you for **_**finally**_** reviewing, my darling!] i have written the twins in here just for you. ;]**

**-MEG**

The Afterwards

_Chapter Four: Let's Talk About Sex_

"What about this one?" Harry pointed to the floor plan nearest to Draco. It was the simplest of the four before them. It featured one large bedroom which was right inside the front door and took up the right side of the apartment. Going past that door and straight ahead was the living room, with fireplace, and two the right was the kitchen and eating nook. There was one bathroom in the corner of the living room that also connected to the bedroom. Harry didn't like the plan so much, but Draco had already vetoed all the others.

"It's too small." He said. "We need two bedrooms—maybe three."

"Three?" Harry asked. "Are you planning on having a separate bedroom?" _Oh, shit, is he?_ He suddenly worried. Of course, they had never discussed this, necessarily, but he had thought they had been on the same page.

"No," Draco said with a smile and a chuckle. He kissed Harry lightly on the forehead to relive the crease that had formed there. "I do. But…my things, my books rather, will take up a great deal of room. And since you insist on not magicking a room—"

"We wouldn't be able to explain it to the muggles." Harry put in not for the first time.

"—_Then_ we will need the space." Draco concluded with a small, admonishing look to Harry's interruption. "There is surely a flat for us that is perfect." Draco insisted. He let out a breath and leaned back on the couch. Harry did the same, leaning over slightly to lay his head on Draco's chest.

This was their first private moment in two days. The confined had been removed to the Burrow and the safe house had been dismantled—though no one would explain why. Unfortunately the Burrow was a good deal smaller than the safe house had been. Especially since the twins were home. The twins were in their customary room, and Hermione and Harry were in with Ginny and Ron, respectively. (Hermione was moving out the next day. Her parents had down that searching for her and found her a place quickly while they were still in the safe house.) Draco was the nomad. Bill and Charlie's room had been cannibalized for _all_ of their belongings, to keep it out of the way—even minimized, there were quite a lot of possessions to keep track of. Draco, therefore, was left on the couch. Mrs. Weasley had tried to get him to take the bedroom, but he didn't want to have to fill her living spaces with their property. Plus, he had told her, he and Harry were out of there as soon as they agreed on a place.

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly, leaning up. "I forgot one." He ran quickly upstairs to grab the missing packet. It was a thick bunch of photos and specs that Mr. Weasley had brought home. Mr. Weasley still worked with muggle and magical relations—a position that had gained in importance with the Ministry's recovery and stabilization—and on a raid he had noticed this property across the street for them. Harry returned to Draco, sitting himself on the couch, cross legged. He unwrinkled the information paper and laid out the photos between them. They did not, by the way, move. "It has three bedrooms—one a small attic really." He added as a downside.

"I do not mind attics." Draco said with a smile. After all, he had just spent quite a lot of time living in one. "I could make that my study," He said, pointing to the top bedroom, "put the books there. It wouldn't be fair to make it a guest room, after all."

Harry nodded, grinning. "The bedrooms are a little smaller, but—"

"We can fit, you're tiny." Draco said with a wink. Harry hit him lightly. "But the living area is the larger than the others—enough to make part of it a dining space."

"I think that's the intent." Harry said, gesturing towards the connection between the kitchen and the living space.

Upon opening the door, you were greeted with a door to your right; it appeared to be a closet. Then the stairs lead you up. To the left was the kitchen, a doorless entry lead you in. It wasn't very large, but it would fit them. Straight ahead was the living room. The wall between the kitchen and the living area had a cut out like a window, they saw in the pictures. The fireplace was in the center of the back wall, the focal point of the townhouse—it was, in fact, a townhouse. On the opposite side of the kitchen and off-shooting the living space was one of the bedrooms. It connected to the bathroom, whose public door was visible from the living area. On the opposite side of the large room was another door in the corner: the master bed and bathroom complete with walk-in closet. Across from that doorway, in the other corner was a winding staircase that leads to the third bedroom, which was really more of a loft.

They flipped through the images. It seemed like a good starter home. It was only a few blocks from the school, and near a tube entrance. Hermione would be less than a mile away as well. They both liked the images—though Draco was annoyed that the pictures did not move. Harry agreed to visit the townhouse the next day to see if it lived up to the pictures.

Draco, meanwhile, was to report to the ministry. His assistant position was beginning—though he wasn't entirely sure who it would be that he shadowed. The Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had been rather vague on the matter. He _thought _he would be in the Auror office or the minister's own staff. It was unsettling for him to not know. He was okay for money for the moment, but his father's riches wouldn't last forever. As it was, before his death, Lucius had been Voldemort's main source of funds, which had sucked away a good deal of the money. Plus, he didn't want to live off of his father's blood money.

There was a moment that they looked at each other and everything in the room changed. Their expressions were mirrored; they both knew what they wanted just then. There was something about discussing their life together, living in the same house, presumably forever that charged the room with sexual energy. Just as Harry was about to make the first move, they were interrupted.

"Oi," Fred said, jovial as ever. He and his twin entered without care. Harry knew that they were in a public area, and their quiet time had been a lucky break, but he was still annoyed at the twins' entrance. "Where is everyone?" Fred flopped onto the couch, beside Harry.

The twins had been as easy as Mrs. Weasley had been about the grand announcement that is Harry and Draco. They were surprised that it had been Draco he found affection in, but altogether happy that he had found someone. Harry felt more comfortable around them than around Ron—they never flinched when Harry and Draco looked at each other or touched each other. They would tease the couple just as they would tease any other couple they were friends with. It felt nice. It made the strange haze that seemed to revolve around the couple a break. It made them both feel incredibly _normal_—something that neither had felt in a while.

"Your mother, Ron, and Ginny are shopping for school items. And Hermione is with her parents for the day." Draco said, moving over so Harry could then move, giving the three more space on the couch.

George sat down on a chair, with a grin. "You mean you are completely alone in the house—and you are _down here?_" He said.

Harry blushed redder than Ron. Draco smiled. "We are gentlemen, George. Plus, Harry has a pallet and I have a couch—excuse me for wanting to fuck in a real bed." Harry went redder, if it was possible, at Draco's candor. He felt his pants tighten at the mere thought of "bed-time" and he hoped it wasn't obvious.

Fred and George, meanwhile, were laughing. "Touché." George said, his voice so filled it mirth it was hard to speak.

It took a few minutes for the twins to stop laughing, and by then Harry's face had returned to its normal color. "So…when are you going back to your own flat?" Harry asked.

"Soon. They are almost done with the complete revamp of Diagon Alley." Fred said. One of the Ministry's first acts was to clean up the war torn Diagon Alley. Most of the shops were either burned or leveled, and none of the businesses remained—except to the Weasley's shop, which had barely survived the attack on the Alley thanks to intelligence from their father. The protection charm was able to last long enough for them to hide their inventory away. The twins had spent the last few months at the Burrow with their father.

The plan was to rebuild the shops and give the store owners some grace on rent and payment for the next few months in order to get things back to normal. The Weasley's were excited to the revival, but slightly annoyed that they could not direct the rebuild to suit their needs. The twins had decided to take out a loan to completely refurbish their store, since the building would no longer be a glorified shanty, including new displays and signage. If asked about it, however, neither would give much information—but they would taunt and tease with great joy. Harry and Draco just stopped trying to find out; unfortunately, Ron hadn't given up, and nearly every time he saw his brothers he would ask and the others would groan.

The four chatted for a little longer about nothing important before the twins went upstairs to "talk business." Harry had chuckled: it was still strange to hear them talk about business with serious tones.

Harry settled back on the couch with a meaningless sigh. Draco, however, adjusted so that he was sitting on the edge of the couch. "What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"I want to go outside." Draco said, standing. Draco had been antsy since they were released from the safe house, and had therefore been spending as much time outside as possible. Everyone seemed to feel the same way—though not as much as Draco—and so dinners and such were typically outside.

Harry sighed. He wasn't so fond of the outdoors. They seemed too…big. Hermione had told him that it was probably because of his confinement and the fear that being outside had unknowingly been instilled in him. Reactionary agoraphobia, she had called; whether that was a real term of not, he was unsure. She had, however, hit the proverbial nail on the head. He was annoyed that he seemed to be the only one affected by this. Hermione, however, had been sympathetic; it wasn't his fault after all. Harry hadn't discussed this with Draco; he didn't want to seem weak. Plus, he knew that Draco _loved_ being outside, and didn't want to take it away from him.

And not being near Draco was never an option.

They went out onto the lawn. The Burrow was set on a large piece of land—it wasn't very populated because so little of it was of any real value. It was too far from the city to be of interest to those who worked therein, and not nice enough for those who wished a quieter life. It was a good place for wizards to settle. Harry loved it at the Burrow; to him, it represented what family felt like. These were happy moments—those this house contained.

The lands seemed different now. He wasn't as connected as before. This was no longer his refuge; he no longer needed one. He loved Hogwarts, and the wonders it contained fascinated him even until his last year. But Hogwarts brought with it danger. It was the lover in the night that brought the greatest pleasure, and then put a knife to your throat. The Burrow had always been gentler. But now that he didn't need the feeling, it was just like any other stretch of land. Harry was disappointed.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco's voice broke through his thoughts.

Harry smiled and turned to face Draco. He looked up into Draco's curious face and found the feeling the land would not give. His sense of comfort and love seem to radiate from Draco Malfoy now. He paused before answering. "About how everything seems different now." He replied. He moved slowly away, towards a random tree. Draco followed, of course, only when he came to the tree, he leaned onto it.

"I understand what you mean." Draco said with no small about of relief in his voice. "With Voldemort and them all gone, it seems easier just to do the smallest task."

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. It was not what he had been thinking, but the statement was true enough. Draco noted the twitch, but couldn't define it. He didn't yet know all of Harry's tells; it bothered him a little whenever he thought about it. "Exactly. There is no cloud of knowing over you." He said, knowing at once that the statement wasn't quite right. At Draco's smile, however, he knew to let it go—Draco obviously understood what he meant.

Draco chuckled. "Yes, that." He was laughing both with him and at him. Harry wasn't as…eloquent as Draco when it came to expressing himself. But that was something taught from birth. It was very important for the wealthy children, especially those of Pure birth to speak was articulacy and intelligence. However, Harry's normalcy was attractive; he was never pretentious or high-handed. He just was Harry, all the time.

Harry flushed with some embarrassment. He was self-conscious about his lack of suave. He was raised as though in poverty, and so neglected that no one truly cared how he spoke as long as he wasn't rude. He moved toward Draco and wrapped his arms around Draco's stomach.

"So we are taking that last one?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes," Draco said with a smile. "You can go down there tomorrow and let them know. I'll leave you my financial information." He said with ease. Harry stiffened. It was odd to discuss money, especially when someone was offering to buy a house for him—well, for them. He suddenly felt dependant on Draco and wasn't sure he liked it. He had always prided himself on the fact that he had his own money to pay for things—granted it had been his parents' money, but it was still his to control. He wasn't like Ron or Hermione who would have to ask for things. Draco noted the change in his body. "I figured we would use my money for the house—there won't be any trouble; you can pay for the day to day expenses for a while until the pay checks come in." He said with a light frown.

"Oh, okay." Harry said, looking down. He honestly hadn't considered money or how they would handle finances.

"And then, I thought we would have a joint account—unless you want your own, of course." Draco continued briskly. "My father's money will take care of the townhouse straight out based on the estimate on the papers you showed me, so we won't have to worry about payments or anything—"

Harry moved in and kissed Draco gently. "Shh. It all sounds good." Harry said with a smile. He wasn't going to tell Draco how much Draco's plans for their future turned him on, but it was. However, pressed together as they were, it was becoming obvious to Draco how much Harry liked it.

Draco's brow cocked in a way that Harry was beginning to recognize as Draco's cocky-horny look. "Really?" Draco pressed lightly into Harry and Harry went red.

"Yeah…." He said unsure at first before regaining himself. A sly grin crossed Harry's face. "Mmm, I cannot wait until we are moved in." He whispered, burying his head in Draco's neck. "And I can kiss you, and touch you whenever I want." He kissed the patch of skin at the base of Draco's neck.

Draco chuckled deeply as his stomach flipped around. "I know, I know." Draco's hands moved up Harry's sides and back. "Seriously, these moments are great Harry, don't get me wrong, but I don't know how much I can wait to…." Draco let it hang.

Harry, however, wouldn't. "To fuck." He said crudely. "Me either. God, I want you so badly." He brought his face to look at Draco's; he kisses Draco quickly. "I want you to touch me, Draco, all over. Kiss me, suck me. Fuck me."

"Really?" Draco asked, shocked into asked. "You want to bottom?" He was startled into crudeness as well. "I had been wondering…you know, how you wanted to work it."

Harry grinned. "Yes, I want you to make love to me." Whenever he dreamed of their encounters, he was always on the bottom, staring into Draco's eyes.

Draco's face matched Harry's. "I think I can do that."

"Oi!" Ron's voice came from overhead. "We're back!"

"Harry you have to see my new place!" Hermione said with a smile. They were walking towards the home in question after Harry had signed for the townhouse—which so easy that Harry had wondered exactly why he was so easily trusted, until the landlord admitted he was a wizard. Yes, the name Harry Potter still opened doors.

Hermione's apartment was only three blocks away, which made Harry even more comfortable with this townhouse; she would be nearby, just in case. "I believe we are on the way there," Harry pointed out.

"Shut up," She said, poking him in the stomach. "You and Draco are coming over tonight, right? Ron is going to be there. Ginny can't—she was evasive on exactly why, though—so it will probably be the four of us ringing in my independence." Hermione was glowing with joy, grabbing Harry's hand and holding as though she needed something to tie her down. Harry loved seeing her this way.

"Yes we are coming. Draco is going to join us after he gets off work." Harry said. "Speaking of, when do you start?"

"Next week. Lynn and Victoria are on vacation until then." Hermione said.

"On vacation—as in together?" Harry said, curious.

"I don't think so—or, if they are, not that way. I know Lynn is married, though I don't think Victoria is." Hermione said.

"Gotcha." Harry said. There was a quiet moment before Hermione began to smile ridiculously again. "You are high, aren't you?" He asked with a laugh.

"Shut it, I said! I'm happy. Why are you not giddy—you are moving in with your boyfriend?" She poked him.

"I'm saving my excitement for the bedroom." Harry said.

Hermione laughed long and full. "Oho, finally able to shag all night long now, huh?"

"You say that as though you have been doing it for years." Harry said flatly.

Hermione blushed. "Nooo, but I haven't been living with my sexual interest for months."

"Haven't you?" Harry asked, leering at her.

Hermione gave him an amused-eat-shit kind of look. She put a hand on his mouth as he smiled. "Okay, you are not allowed to talk until we get there."

"Can I talk now?" Harry asked flatly as they arrived to the second story where Hermione's apartment was.

"We haven't walked inside yet," She chided. She played with her keys before fingering the right one. She opened the door and went in. Silent as the grave, Harry followed.

Hermione's apartment was definitely smaller than Harry and Draco's new townhouse. It had one bedroom to the right of the entrance. The first door Harry assumed was a closet, because he could see a bed through the second. The main space was inclusive living, dining, and kitchen area. Because of this, her kitchen was rather large, going the width of the space. There was a small dining table beside the only window in the back of the space. Near the center there was a couch and a television on the opposite wall. The back wall, beside the dining table was four filled bookshelves. It was painted a gentle blue color, though none of the furniture matched. It felt homey, he though. The dining table was covered in open books and papers; it felt so _Hermione_.

"So what do you think?" She asked, moving into the center of the space, beside the couch.

Harry crossed his arms and looked at her.

"You can talk." She said dryly, rolling her eyes.

"Thank you. I love it. It's perfect for you—there is enough room for you books, and nothing else." He teased lightly.

Hermione smiled. "It's small, but I like it. Come, sit."

Harry obliged, taking a seat on the couch as she did. "Shit, this is the most comfortable couch I have ever sat on!" He said, snuggling into it.

"It is," Hermione said, satisfied. She laid her head on his shoulder. Harry wrapped his arm around her. They were silent a moment.

"Do you find it a little weird—moving like this?"

"We've been living apart from parents for a while, Hermione." Harry said, unsure of what she was getting at.

"Yes, but we were still supervised at school. This is real life now—job, payments, rents. I'm living alone for the first time ever, and you are moving in with your boyfriend—your first real relationship, by the way."

Harry opened his mouth to disagree with this, but thought better of it. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he realized how accurate that was: neither Cho nor Ginny had felt that incredible when they pressed against him. "True. Though I more excited by the prospect than nervous."

"Oh, yes, I forgot you have the promise of sex on the brain."

"Okay, it's your turn to shut it." Harry said with a laugh.

Hermione chuckled and rose. "Do you want some tea?"

"Hey," Harry picked up his cell phone—which had been a birthday present from Hermione—with a smile.

"Hey Harry," Draco replied on the other side. "I have good news and bad news."

Harry's stomach plummeted. "What's going on?"

"Well, Kingsley decided that I am going to work for the Department of Mysteries."

"Draco that's great!" Harry said. It was an honor to be trusted with this level of security, not to mean to uptake in pay.

"Yeah, I know." Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "But that means I have to go to the training camp for three days."

"Training camp?" He had a vision of several over weight wizards and Draco running an obstacle course in camouflage.

"It's what they call it. The idea is that they have to set up a few mental blocks in my brain to hide information of what may happen at work." He said.

"Okay…so when do you leave?" Harry said, erroneously already missing Draco.

"In about ten minutes."

"What? But we are moving in tomorrow!" Harry said, knowing full well that hadn't been the first objection he had.

"I know, Harry, but I have to go and I can't say no to this job." Draco said with a sigh.

"I know, I know." Harry put his head in one hand. "Well…have a good time, I guess. I'll see you when you get back." Harry leaned on the wall.

"Of course, I can't wait." There was a pause. "Harry, I have to go. I…I am going to miss you." He said. "Bye."

"Bye." The phone went dead. Harry's stomach was already travelling down to the first floor.

"So I take it Draco isn't coming?" In an apartment this small, there was no way Hermione hadn't heard. She was now dressed in an apron since she was cooking shrimp scampi and pasta for their dinner.

"No," Harry said, pouting like a child. He sat on the couch again, mildly comforted by its squishiness. "He is going to be working with the Department of Mysteries."

"Ah—that's the training session you meant." She said, moving back to the oven to tend to her pasta.

"You know about it?" Harry asked, joining her.

"Yeah." She stirred the pasta. "It is pretty intense from what the book on the various Ministry Departments says. What they do is set up two memory walls inside the brain making a cage of sorts. Inside those walls will be the information they need for their everyday jobs. A person called a Gatekeeper opens the wall each morning before they go into the doors, and closes them as they leave. That way they cannot remember what went on while they were there nor can they tell someone else. Some things they may remember—like talking with someone about the last quidditch match. They wouldn't remember something like checking in a new prophecy. It's very complicated magic. But it is impossible to access that information without using the Imperious curse or being a Gatekeeper."

Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. "You really are an encyclopedia, aren't you?"

Hermione smiled. "I know." She lifted the pot of pasta and moved to the sink to strain it. "He'll be back in a couple of days." She reassured him, shaking the pasta. "In the mean time, where the hell is Ron?" She gave it a few more shakes.

"His shift doesn't end for another five minutes; I doubt his brothers are going to let him off early." Harry said with a smile.

"True." Hermione replied. She poured the pasta into a bowl and added the garlic-butter shrimp atop. "Well, dinner is ready," She said with a satisfied sigh. She placed the bowl on the counter.

"And where are we supposed to eat this?" He said, gesturing towards the covered dining room table.

Hermione waved that small fact away. "The couch works, or the floor."

"What about Crookshanks?" Harry asked of her cat.

"He is asleep on my bed probably; he doesn't eat people food usually."

"But I sure as hell do!" Ron said as he appeared by the door. "Damn, Hermione, it smells great in here." He said, shucking off his coat.

Harry noticed the sudden glow on her face. "Thanks. Have a plate." She passed both of the boy's plates.

Two bottles of cheap, though effective, wine later, dinner was consumed with great compliments to Hermione. Harry wasn't sure whether she was glowing more from the wine or from Ron praising her. He wondered how much Ron even noticed. Ron was perceptive on rare occasions, and on even rarer moments did he interpret things correctly. This wasn't usually a problem—mainly because no one expected him to be any better—except for moments like this. Hermione was looking at him _that way_, touching him with _that meaning_, laughing with _that laugh_. And he seemed none the wiser. He felt for her, and hoped her day would soon come. She deserved to be happy, just as Ron did.

It was Ron who staggered to his feet (they were seated on the floor in a triangle) to grab the third and last of Hermione's welcome-to-the-building wine. He wasn't very drunk at all, but he still had trouble rising. It made Harry and Hermione giggle.

They settled on playing cards since it meant they wouldn't have to worry about moving around too much. The cards did become more and more difficult at the third bottle dwindled. Around midnight both Hermione and Ron were yawning. It took about fifteen minutes for them to decide to stop; the card game had lost its way some two hours ago.

"Are you staying here?" Hermione asked Harry. "Your apartment is still empty, right?"

"Yeah, but I have a bed minimized in my pocket. I'll be fine." He said. He and Hermione were a little bit better off, Hermione mostly because she hadn't consumed as much as the others.

All three rose and this time, Ron took a second try to actually gain verticality. "Hmm," Harry said, aiding Ron. "Hermione, can you piggyback him home? You are the most sober of the two of us…."

"Sure." Hermione positioned herself beside Ron, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"Thanks." He hugged the side of her that wasn't supporting Ron. "The place is great." He said with a smile. "You are coming by tomorrow to help me unpack, right?"

"Yes, when do you want me?" She said.

"Mrs. Weasley is floo-ing things over around ten, so any time after that." He said.

"Sounds good."

"Bye Harry." Ron said with a distant smile.

"Get some rest Ron."

And Harry disappeared.

He appeared in the living area of his new home. It didn't feel right, being there. It didn't feel like his yet. He stood there a moment, smelling the ambiguous scent of cleaning products and vacuum dust. The place had been newly painted as well—plain white. That would have to change. A shiver crawled down his back, though he didn't know why. He wasn't cold or afraid. But there it went, from top right down to his legs.

He forced himself to move then, pulling out the miniature mattress and box spring from his pocket. It would do for tonight; of course, he had imagined a much more exciting "tonight" than the one he faced. He felt very much alone. There was nothing in the house, save the appliances and a cord for the cable, and that only emphasized the solitary state.

He wanted Draco there. Not just for the promised sex encounter, but just because he missed him already.

He sighed and enlarged the bed. Three days. Just three days and they would be together again.

Harry woke without incident; he suffered no ill effects from the night before. He was, however, starving. He came out of the room and found a pile of minimized items scattered around the fireplace. Atop them was a note: _Harry, so sorry I couldn't deliver these in a more personable manner. Fred and George had a slight problem with an errant monkey that _somehow_ has radioactive fecal matter. Everything is there dear, and the small basket has breakfast. –Molly Weasley._

Harry smiled, both from Fred and George's plight and the prospect of breakfast. He located the small basket and maximized it back into its original size. Inside he found pastries, milk, and an orange. He smiled and picked up a pastry, tearing into it like a rabid animal. He looked down at the pile of boxes, bags, and tiny furniture. It was only about as high as his ankle, but when he considered that the boxes that would usually be half his height or more were now the size of the eraser of pencil, it seemed daunting to unpack them.

He sat on the floor and finished the last of the pastry. He let out a happy groan. He would miss Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

"I smell baked goods." Harry started at the voice, though he knew it was only Hermione. "Got any more?"

"Yeah, the basket." He said, gesturing. "Eat fast, though, I want to get this over with."

She nodded and ate as fast as Harry had. Harry began to expand the boxes. There was easily twenty boxes, eight bookshelves, two desks (both Draco's, though Harry had no idea why he needed two), two dressers, two nightstands, a large table, and a couch.

"Damn. That's a lot." Hermione said, looking at the new pile.

"Yeah, well Draco liquidated his parents' estate, keeping only what he wanted so…yeah, it's a lot."

"This is one of those moments where being a witch is a wonderful thing." She said as she placed a feather-light and hovering charm on the larger of the two dressers. "Your room I presume?"

"Correct." And thus…it began. Harry had never had many personal possessions before attending Hogwarts: merely some horribly dyed clothes, his broken glasses, and necessities for sustaining life. During his Hogwarts years, he acquired various magical books and accessories and handmade sweaters; still, his possessions were low. Draco's possessions, however, encompassed an entire home—a home that was more like a mansion from the pictures Harry had seen. Most of the manor's items had been sold or donated, but some Draco had kept; and those boxes were the worst to move, mainly because Harry had no idea whether or not Draco wanted whatever it was more or less prominent. He decided to just go with what he liked and they could organize it later. He also pushed away the disgruntled thoughts that it shouldn't matter what Draco wants because he wasn't there when he promised to be…. That wasn't fair to Draco. But he couldn't help but think it.

He located six boxes of books. "Hey, let's do these real fast, it will clear some room in here." Hermione agreed and began to hover the bookshelves up the stairs while Harry dealt with the boxes themselves. The upstairs loft/attic/third bedroom was going to be a study of sorts, with one of the desks, the books, and other appropriate items. Hermione decided to lines the books in the smaller area to the left of the door so they could be together in one area. She placed the shelves down without consulting Harry, but it didn't bother him.

"You've been quiet." He said as he put the boxes down and opened the nearest; it was a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary, which was several volumes long. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah…fine."

Harry didn't know much about women, but he knew that "fine" didn't mean that she was actually okay. "Did you and Ron get in a fight last night?"

"No." She said, picking up an original copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens. "Where do you want this?"

"I hadn't decided on an organizational system yet…." Harry said. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, reference on these shelves," he gestured to the ones in from of him, "and you can do the rest as you please, just fill me in okay?"

"Fine." She said in a sigh. She put the Dickens book on the shelf in front of her.

Harry stopped placing the OED on the shelves and turned to face her. "Okay, Hermione, tell me what is going on."

Hermione put the next book she held, _A Handmaid's Tale_ by Margaret Attwood, down. She picks up another book and puts it away, and a third. Harry eventually turned back to what he was doing with a surrendering sigh.

"We had sex last night..." Hermione's voice came from a distant place, but she kept her voice strong.

"_What?" _Was all he could even think to reply. He turned to face her, shocked and wide-eyed.

"In the kitchen..."

"_What?"_

"At the Burrow..."

"Holy Shit!" He whispered, rubbing his face with his hand. He leaned against the shelves because he couldn't stand on his own.

"I know!" She said in a weary tone. She collapsed lightly onto one of the boxes; filled with books, it held her weight. "It just…happened." She said, not looking at Harry at all.

Harry blinked. "Okay…I am probably going to regret this—but tell me what happened." The last thing he wanted to do was _picture_ them having sex, but he also knew that Hermione needed to talk about it—that was obvious.

"Well, I apparated him back home." She began, looking at the bookshelves absently as the scene played before her mind. "Almost immediately, this damn spider came out of nowhere and landed on him." Harry stifled a laugh: he could imagine Ron's reaction. Hermione smiled briefly. "Exactly. I grabbed him to calm him down and pulled the spider off of his shoulder. He was almost in tears." She rolled her eyes. "He was so thankful—and still mildly drunk—he hugged me and thanked me. And then he kissed me. And I kissed him back." Her face went red.

"And one thing led to another…." Harry supplied so she wouldn't have to further detail the encounter. He shuffled uneasily. It was strange discussing Hermione and sex at the same time. "Have you guys…talked about it?" _Like Ron would be mature enough to discuss it_, he thought.

"Not really. After…wards, we stood up and awkwardly said goodnight and I left." She answered.

"I thought so." He looked at her again. She looked confused, tired, and scared. He rarely saw Hermione so vulnerable. He felt for her. Having a one-night-stand was one thing, but doing it with someone you love who can't even admit he loves you is probably horrible. He moved towards her and hugged her. "How was it?" He immediately regretted asking.

She laughed slightly, but he could hear the tears pooling in her eyes. "Well…I can't say it was perfect because losing my virginity on Mrs. Weasley's dining room table was not my ideal. But…damn it, Harry, you know I love him. It was great because of that. I could see how he felt for me in his eyes." She paused. "But afterwards…I knew we both wanted to run. And now…I am not entirely sure I could be with him for real. I think it's ruined."

"It's not ruined…" But he didn't know anymore than she did. He separated from her and held her shoulders. "Look, it will all be okay, no matter what happens."

"How do you know?"

"Because we have lived through the world when it was far from okay and lived. I can tell you that fucking Ron in a kitchen I will never eat in again is not even close to facing Death Eaters and psycho teachers." He kissed her forehead. "Now, how are you doing physically?"

She smiled lightly and sighed. "Fine. I need some pain cream this morning, but it's manageable. A good thing about broom stick riding..." She said. Harry laughed at her pun. "About the other stuff…well, I'm not sick, and it wasn't the right time for pregnancy, I don't think."

"That's good." He said with a sigh. He hugged her again. "Now, we better finish this." He gestured to the books.

She smiled. "Shall I explain the organizational system to you?"

It took longer than expected to put the house together, partly because of Hermione's revelation, and partly because neither could agree on how the living space should be set up. Harry eventually gave in. He spent the next day buying muggle essentials and food. This included a television and tech equipment, new appliances, and paintings and decorations that didn't move. (Those that they had that did were in Draco's study, and charmed to freeze when muggles entered, thanks to Hermione.) He spent so much money that it made him ill—until, that is, he remembered that Draco was return the next day. He had travelled to a grocery store he knew well for this first trip; it was far enough away that, when he was sure no one could see, he magicked himself and the bundles home.

The items were delivered and he hovered them into place. He waited to put up the decorations until Draco got back—in retrospect, he should have waited until Draco got back so they could decide together. No matter, he still needed something to do. He sat then, staring at the clock wondering what to do next. It was only four in the afternoon; Mrs. Weasley had invited him to dinner, but that was not until seven. He dialed Hermione's number, but she didn't answer. So he was alone now.

But being alone only made him miss Draco, so he forced himself to get out of the house and walk around. He left the townhouse and turned…right. He didn't know the neighborhood so well, but he knew it was not very sinister from what he had heard. The Dursleys were not too keen on associating with those outside of their geographical and social positions (unless they were above them, of course), so he hadn't known anyone from the area, nor had he been there before.

There was a long row of townhouses similar to his one the row, so he turned right again at the next street he came upon. A block and a half later he had moved past the homes and found a plaza of varies shops and cafes serving anything from tea to clothing to groceries by the look of their signs. In the center was a circular patch of grass with a large tree in the dead center and benches around it. At the moment, a couple was curled together on one bench, and a man was laying on the other size of the grass reading. There were a good number of people coming in and out of the stores. The sedate scene made him smile.

He popped in and out of a few of the stores. Kitty's Tea Room had some of the best tea he had ever had. Lighthouse Grocery had a decent selection of items, and was way handier that his earlier excursion had been. Then a sign caught his eye. "Empyrean" the sign read. He knew of Empyrean, a name for a Heaven-like place that is supposed to contain pure, elemental Fire. There is a potion named for it that they had learned in Seventh Year: Empyrean Flame (a potion meant to burn whatever it touches until it no longer exists at all). He decided to come back to the store, but for now headed on his way. He was too busy missing Draco to give anything else any focus. He eventually made it back home, unsatisfied. Eighteen more hours; they seemed like years.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley shuffled over as though it had been three years since she had seen the young man, instead of only three days. After an intense hug, she pushed him out to arm's length. "You look starved—are you eating properly?" She accused. Then, without waiting for an answer, she shoved an appetizer in his hands that looked like cheese wrapped in ham. "Eat up, Harry." And she twirled away to tend to a large pot. Harry chuckled, but did as she said. Until, that is, another woman pulled him away and upstairs.

"Hermione, you are going to rip my shirt." He said, somewhat annoyed at being dragged away from the food—it was very good, after all.

"Shh, I just…need to talk to you." She pulled him into Ginny's room and closed the door.

"Dear God, what did you do now?" He asked as she shut the door. "I thought you were supposed to talk!"

"We were. We just…well, I got there and we couldn't talk in front of people, obviously, so we went into the storage room and…"

"Shit." Harry put his head in his hands. "Since when are you such a sex fiend?"

"I am not a sex fiend!" She said indignantly. "It just…well, it feels good and it's so easy…and I love him dammit! You would understand if Draco was home."

He almost shot back, but knew that yelling in this house would carry no matter what silencing charm was used—damn Mrs. Weasley's paranoia. It gave him a chance to calm down, however, and refocus. "So, you haven't talked, then?"

"No." Hermione said, clearly ashamed, blushing.

"Okay then." He headed towards the door and opened it.

"Where are you going?" She asked, miffed that he would leave her like this.

"Now where." He poked his head out the door. "OI! RON! GET UP HERE!" He called down. He waited a moment or so. Ron's head began visible on the stairs.

"What's up, Harry?" Ron said as he headed in. And then he saw Hermione; his entire body seemed to go red instantly. "…Hi."

"Hi."

"Okay," Harry began. "Talk, now, in front of me so you have to keep your clothes on."

Ron looked helpless, but Hermione still had control of her faculties. "Harry, it's private." She said, fidgeting.

"You will tell me anyway, and this needs to happen." He sat on Ginny's bed. "Now, go on."

"Hi…"

"Hi…"

Silence.

"Dear Lord—I admitted my feelings to a man faster than you can tell each other that you have loved each other for years?" Harry prompted.

"We don't love each other." Ron said defensively, bright as a tomato.

"Don't we?" Hermione asked, looking at him with large eyes.

Ron looked at her. More silence. "Do we?"

"Christ." Harry whispered. He fell back on the bed, but no one was paying him any attention.

"I think so."

"We could try."

"Ok…" More silence, more standing.

"DINNER!" Came through the house. Everyone in the room jumped.

"She is going to give someone a bloody heart attack one day." Ron said, heading towards the door. He left room first. Harry rose off the bed and put an arm around Hermione.

"That failed miserably." He sighed.

Dinner was incredibly awkward for the three of them—not that the others at the table really noticed. They were too excited over the news of the opening of another store, and Mr. Weasley's raise. Harry excused himself early, ignoring Hermione's protests, claiming he had to meet a repair guy. (Since they understood so little of the muggle world, no one objected, except Hermione, who shut up with one look.)

He went to bed early and slept late. He was dreaming about Draco, and he woke up lonely. Ten more hours. He lazed about most of the day. He went shopping for dinner, and finished doing the last bits of cleaning. Painting had never occurred to him, until now. Maybe they should: the white walls felt wrong. Not homey, not warm. But they could discuss that later, during dinner maybe. Draco was due home at seven, and he began cooking at five-thirty. He was making something simple: chicken Caesar bakes. Pizza dough, covered with Caesar dressing, wrapped around cooked chicken and a touch of bacon. He wrapped it up and placed it in the oven. Though he wouldn't thank the Dursleys for much, they were the reason he could cook with some experience. The bake came out of the oven about half an hour later, and he left it on the stove to cool. He began to set the table. It was seven-o-three and Harry was becoming nervous.

Until he heard the unmistakable _pop_ of an apparition.

Harry turned. Draco stood there, tall and strong. He looked a little tired, but the smile that crawled across his face lightened him up quickly. "You made dinner—it smells incredible." Draco moved into the kitchen area.

"Yeah." Harry said. They were five feet apart, and the room filled with intensity. "Are you hungry?"

Draco's grin altered slightly. "Not enough."

"Good," Harry breathed, and he launched himself into Draco's arms. They kissed harder than they ever had before. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco, pulling their bodies as close together as possible. Draco, not entirely balanced, bumbled his way towards the bed. He bent over, allowing them both to fall onto the bed. Neither noticed.

Hands touched anything and everything they could. Neither were entirely sure how this would work, but instincts were taking over and steadily surety was becoming less important. As their mouths worked, Harry's hands unbutton Draco's shirt and pushed it off. Harry's fingers played with Draco's nipples, causing him to moan lightly. They stopped to breathe and Harry took this opportunity to remove his own shirt. They said nothing, but smiled at each other briefly before Draco began to kiss Harry's naked chest. Down from Harry's neck, to each nip, to his belly button, to the thin line of hair, Draco's lips memorized every patch of skin possible.

They moved together, instinctually knowing what to do, memorizing and touching every inch of skin, and learning which parts were particularly sensitive to each other. In the end, Harry reached up and pulled Draco down, kissing him thoroughly as Draco claimed Harry as his own. "Oh, yes." Harry breathed. And then, with very little warning, it was over with one last wave of bliss they both cried out. Draco fell, limp and unable to move. They breathed together there, before Draco regained some control and rolled over.

They looked into each other's eyes. Smiles stretched across their faces. But neither spoke. Draco reached out a hand to push a lock of hair out of Harry face.

"Welcome home," Harry breathed.

**N E X T**  
_Chapter Six: Fire & Ice_

"I said that I am not gay."

"What?"

"I thought you knew that. I didn't think it was necessary to—"

"We have been shagging for weeks and now you decide to tell me you are not gay?"

"Yes."


End file.
